


Two Years Too Many

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, John's New Life, Lots of Crying, M/M, Post-The Reichenbach Fall, Sherlock's return, Some Things Change Some Remain The Same, admission of feelings, angst all over the place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-15 07:49:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2221260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock returns after two years to find John in surprising circumstances. John wants his best friend back but can their already fragile reunion handle the new changes?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Return

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe. 
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

John was sitting on the sofa in his little flat, reading the paper in the quiet and ignoring the mug of tea he'd made an hour ago. Even to this day the first thing he did was skim the stories for a possible case, even though he'd told Ella he had stopped doing that a long time ago. Having to start seeing her again had been difficult, and he'd resisted for a long time. But in the end she had been helpful, helping him put Sherlock safely away so that he could move on with his life. The biggest shock was realising that he'd been in love with the man for a long time, but slowly he learned to accept his death and channel those feelings into figuring out what that meant about him and his life. 

Just then the there was a knock at the door and John smiled, looking up from the paper. "It's open!" he called out, folding the paper back up as Daniel walked in. He stood to greet him, following him into the kitchen. 

"Hello," he said, putting the bags down. "I was in the area and thought . . . " He leaned in and pecked John's lips. " . . . thought I'd stop by. I got your post as well," he added, handing the small pile to John. 

"Get anything good?" John asked distractedly, looking through the letters. He paused on one without any return address or postage, his brows furrowing slightly. He heard Daniel saying something about cooking dinner that night but the words faded away as he opened the envelope, a heavy, nervous feeling settling in his chest

__________

_John,_

_I'm not dead._

_There's no easy way of saying it so I've opted for the direct route._

_Please know that there was a very good reason I did what I did in the way I did. Please know that -- you are probably overwhelmed with many feelings at the moment, but think clearly and you will remember that I would have never intentionally hurt you (I am aware that I did) without it being a matter of life and death. Your death, Mrs Hudson's, Lestrade's. Mine in exchange for yours. I didn't hesitate to do what was right._

_However, I know that doing what was right left you with much pain. I had hoped that my return would ease that, but I appreciate that hope may have been idealistic to help me get through being away. I do not know what to expect, and so I shall expect nothing from you. Of course I would like to see you, to go back to how it was. But I know that that may be impossible, so this time, I will let you decide._

_And in case you are worried this is a hoax, let me assure you it is not. I promise from now on, John, no more games or tricks. It's me, John. If you would like proof, I can tell you every detail of our first case together, every word we said to each other, because I memorised that time and have replayed it over and over in my head. I have missed you. I miss you still._

_Yet, we have already said our goodbyes, haven't we? Mine on the roof, yours at the cemetery. If you would like those goodbyes to stand, I wouldn't blame you. I will leave you to the life I left._

_However, if you would like us to see each other again, ring Mycroft and let him know.  
_

_I hope you do._

_Yours,_

_SH_

__________

John felt sick. The letter slipped from his hands and if Daniel hadn't caught him he would have fallen right over. But now he was in a chair and suddenly he came to his senses and Daniel was holding his face, repeating his name over and over again. "What?" he mumbled.

"Christ, John. You scared me! What's wrong? Who is this from?" Daniel asked, picking up the letter.

John couldn't answer. Alive? Sherlock was alive -- he had been the whole time and he'd let John think he was dead. All the mourning, the hallucinations, the therapy -- all of it for nothing. He felt so stupid. He felt his fist tightening and he was standing suddenly, throwing his mug across the room. Daniel flinched and grabbed John, forcing him to keep still. "It's okay, John. Please calm down . . ."

"He's alive!" John shouted, pushing him away and panting in anger. 

"Yes, I read the letter," he said gently. 

John looked at him sharply, confused as to why he wasn't as angry as John was. "He lied!"

"Yes . . . but by the many things you've told me about him, this is the sort of thing he would do," Daniel said. "Look -- he says he's willing to leave you alone. I say you take him up on it. Throw away the letter and just keep moving on."

John shook his head. "No. I have to know why he did this. I want to see him. Possibly beat his face in a bit," he grumbled, searching for his phone. 

"John, don't do this," Daniel insisted. 

John ignored him and dialed up Mycroft. "Where is he?" he asked before Mycroft could say anything. 

"Dr Watson, I'm well. How are you?" Mycroft said. When John ignored his attempt at pleasantries and repeated his question, Mycroft said, "He's in London. Are you absolutely sure you want any more information?"

"Tell me. Now." John looked over at Daniel who was ignoring him now, putting away the things he had bought for dinner. 

"And your new . . . friend, is he equally curious?" Mycroft said, giving John one more chance to change his mind.

"Tell me where he is, Mycroft." John was getting angrier by the second, realising that Mycroft had probably known the whole time. Even worse, if he'd been checking up on John -- which he must have been to know about Daniel -- then he was probably telling Sherlock and the fact that Sherlock probably knew everything about him despite being away made him want to get sick all over again. 

Mycroft walked through the side door in his office to the small reception room where Sherlock was sitting. "Would you like to arrange a time for you two to meet?" he said into his phone.  
  
Sherlock looked up at Mycroft and felt his stomach flip when he realised to whom Mycroft was speaking.

"Yes," John said instantly, looking over at Daniel. He seemed to know what John was agreeing to and he shook his head lightly, mouthing 'don't do it'. John looked down guiltily, but he waited for the details.  

"He intends to return to Baker Street, but did not want to do so without getting in touch with you. Perhaps you could pay him a visit tomorrow morning?" Mycroft said. Sherlock watched his face for every reaction.

"Fine," John agreed, and he hung up the phone without waiting for anything else. "Please don't look at me like that," John said to Daniel as he put the phone down. 

"I just don't understand why you want to see him," Daniel said. "After how he hurt you . . . why do you want to?"

"Because I want answers, Daniel. I want to know why he did it, why he couldn't tell me. I want to see his face when he is explaining and see if he is even a little bit sorry," he said. 

"Okay. I'm sorry," Daniel said, coming over and kissing him softly. "Okay. Well, when are you meeting him?"

"I am going to Baker Street tomorrow morning," John said. 

"Okay. I am going to cook you a lovely dinner tonight, and you are going to forget about all of that bad stuff until the morning, okay?" 

John nodded, but that was easier said than done. He found the letter and read it over and over until Daniel got angry and told him to throw it out, but he only hid it in the back of his drawer. They watched bad telly, his mind wandering to Sherlock, and while Daniel cooked dinner John got back on the blog. The last entry was his goodbye, the end of the blog and the entries. He opened a new entry and stared at the cursor, wondering how he was going to word this. Then he gave up and closed it. He was getting ahead of himself. He joined Daniel, eating at the table with him to complete the romantic dinner he had planned. And then they went to bed but John waved off Daniel's advances, too distracted to want to do anything. He knew Daniel was angry, but he couldn't care. He was awake for a very long time, playing so many different scenes and conversations in his head, terrified about seeing Sherlock again.

"Well," Sherlock said, "how did he sound?"  
  
"Angry," Mycroft said, "as I told you he would be. Are you sure you want to do this? Any of this -- Baker Street, John, going back? I could find you another assignment, a safer one, and you could settle in somewhere else. A lot has changed in two years."  
  
"Do you mean John? How has John changed?" Sherlock asked.

"Everything has changed. The world doesn't stop for two years just because Sherlock Holmes is not in it," Mycroft answered.

"How has John changed?" Sherlock repeated. "Don't pretend you don't know, I know you do."

"You can find out for yourself tomorrow morning," Mycroft said. "My job here is done. You are on your own now, brother." He turned and went back to his office. Sherlock stood and left for Baker Street.

Mycroft had already spoken to Mrs Hudson, who, while surprised, was happy with the news of Sherlock's return. _Why couldn't John be like that as well?_ Sherlock wondered as the taxi took him home. He knew the answer, of course, but he couldn't help wishing that John would still be at the flat, waiting for him as if Sherlock had just been gone for the weekend. Mycroft was right -- two years is a long time. He hated Mycroft for that.

Mrs Hudson welcomed him in and, after a long conversation, it did feel like old times again which was a very nice feeling. Then they went upstairs to the flat, which she had left alone after John had moved out. Sherlock sat down on John's chair and before he knew it, he wept. Mrs Hudson rushed over and stroked his back. Neither spoke until Sherlock collected himself and stood up. "I'm all right now," he said, straightening his jacket. "I'm all right."

Mrs Hudson gave him a little hug and said, "It's okay to have feelings, love."

"No, it's not," Sherlock said, leaning back from her embrace.

"You don't fool me, Sherlock Holmes," Mrs Hudson said, letting him wander around the flat.

He turned to look at her and smiled. "Thank you, Mrs Hudson. I missed you."

"I know you did. I missed you, too, but I suppose I knew I'd see you home one day," she said, pretending that knowing was the same as hoping.

He smiled again. "I guess I should tidy up," he said. "John is coming to visit tomorrow."  
  
Mrs Hudson's face dropped a little. "Are you sure that's wise, Sherlock?"

"Would everyone stop asking me that?" he said, like a child.

"It's just . . . John took it all very hard. He wasn't well. I did my best to look after him, but it wasn't enough and when he said he had to leave, he meant it -- he hasn't been back, barely even kept in touch. I've not heard from him for over a year. Are you sure you want to open up old wounds?" she was wringing her hands.

"This time it's not about what I want. It's what he wants. I gave him the option. I would have left him alone if that's what he really wanted. I would have . . . I think. It doesn't matter. He wants to see me. He insisted."

"All right, love, I'll let the two of you sort it. Just remember, two years is a very long time," she said, making her way to the door.

"I know precisely how long two years is, Mrs Hudson."  
  
"I know you do," she said. "I'm in this evening so come down if you need anything."

Sherlock tidied the flat and nipped out to the shop to get some things. When he came back, when he opened the door on his own and stepped in, it suddenly seemed so empty -- so dead -- with no one else but him inside of it. He couldn't do anymore tonight, he couldn't risk crying again. He took three of his pills and went to bed. He had grown used to taking the pills, perhaps he'd even become dependent on them. While he was away, he couldn't sleep without them. And just for tonight, it was okay, he told himself, that he still needed them.

John had only slept for about two hours when the alarm went off. He kissed Daniel's head as he got up and went to take a shower, taking a long time to get out. He dried off and came into the room to get dressed, smiling as Daniel got up and pulled him into a hug. It was sweet until he told John it wasn't too late to back out. 

"I'm going to see him, Daniel," he insisted, pulling away from him to get dressed. 

"Well, let me come with you," Daniel said. 

John shook his head. "No. I am going to see him alone. I have to this first time."

Daniel rolled his eyes and went into the bathroom, shutting the door with a snap. John swallowed hard and continued getting ready. He wasn't going to let Daniel make him feel guilty -- he was feeling too many things already and he needed to deal with Sherlock before anything else. Before he left, he kissed Daniel who merely grunted and said nothing.

Sherlock woke up with a start just as the sun was rising. He felt lost in whatever dream he was having and opening his eyes did not reorient him. Until he remembered: he was home.

He got up and made a cup of tea. After that he showered. He didn't know precisely what time John was arriving but his eagerness was making him sick to his stomach, so he wanted to at least get himself ready. He sat down on the sofa and looked around the room.

In the cab John almost told him to turn around twice, but he bit his lip and forced himself to keep quiet. Outside of 221 he felt his eyes burning, his mind replaying scenes from the past. He took a moment to calm down before using his key to let himself in. He walked up the stairs to the flat's door and knocked.

Sherlock heard the downstairs door, which could have been Mrs Hudson going out. But then he heard footsteps on the stairs and a knock on the door.


	2. The First Meeting

Suddenly Sherlock was seized with the thought that this was a terrible idea. He regretted opening all this up for John again, he shouldn't have come back, he didn't want to do anything more to hurt John. Suddenly Sherlock was afraid of what he didn't know.

But it was too late now. "Come in," he said.

John hesitated to touch the handle, holding it for a moment too long before pushing the door open. Any preparation he'd done before went right out the window when his eyes fell on Sherlock. The heavy feeling in his chest all but crushed him, making it difficult to breath. "You . . ." he broke off, his eyes burning all over again and actually blurring his vision. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides as he tried to control himself.  

"John," Sherlock said, unable to stop himself from smiling as he stood up. "John."

"Don't," he breathed, shaking slightly at the smile. God, he'd missed him. His heart was hurting from the rush of it all and for a moment he was sure he was going to have a heart attack. "Don't . . . you . . . dare."

"All right," Sherlock said, sitting back down. "Tell me what you need me to do."

John huffed out a sarcastic laugh, finally coming into the flat. "I _needed_ you to not be dead. I _needed_ you to not leave me. To lie to me. To hurt me like this. That's what I _needed,_ Sherlock. How could you do this?"

"I had to. Moriarty has snipers -- they had to believe it was real. Your believing it made it real," Sherlock said. "I'm sorry, John, I'm sorry."

"You -- you could have told me! It's been two bloody years!" he shouted now. "Two years and I couldn't get a message? A sign? Anything?"

"I couldn't put you in danger, John, I . . . I'm sorry," Sherlock said, looking down at the floor.

"Danger," John scoffed, pacing now and rubbing his face hard. "We lived danger, Sherlock! What you did . . . it hurt," he finished quietly. "I . . . I missed you," he admitted, wondering how much he should actually tell him about how broken he was. 

"And all those other dangers -- did I lie to you? No, because this was different. You remember that first night at the pool -- he would have loved to have hurt you. I couldn't let that happen." He swallowed. "I missed you. I couldn't . . . I . . . I missed you."

John thought about how broken he'd been and looked down now, rubbing his temples. He wouldn't talk about that. That part of his life was over and dwelling wouldn't change it. "I don't know what we're supposed to do now," he admitted. "I . . . how do we catch up on two years?" 

"Are you coming home?" Sherlock said. And then he wished he hadn't.

John looked up and shook his head. "No, I . . . I have my own flat again. And I'm . . . I'm seeing someone." He looked down again as he said that. Technically it didn't matter since they were friends and he saw women all the time while living with Sherlock. But ever since he realised he also liked men, and even more that he'd been in love with Sherlock, it wouldn't be right to live here. Daniel would lose it. And then he realised Sherlock mustn't already know about Daniel -- or that John was seeing a man now. "He . . . his name is Daniel," he added, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. He didn't know how he would explain. 

Sherlock wasn't expecting that. He stood up. "All right then," he said. "I think we're done here. I wanted to explain and I've explained and I hope one day you'll understand." He swallowed. "You should probably go now." This was all wrong. Everything was wrong. 

"Excuse me?" John asked, his brows furrowing. "You come back from the bloody dead and now you're kicking me out? I agreed to see you, came all the way here and reopened all the wounds I closed and you're kicking me out?"

"No . . . I didn't mean . . ." Sherlock said. "I just wanted to see you, but . . . your life now, I don't want to disrupt it. I'm sorry. I know I have . . . I don't want to anymore so perhaps we should just leave it now."

"You didn't want to disrupt it? If that were true, Sherlock, you wouldn't have sent me that letter. Now you find out that I finally started to live some kind of life and you're done with it all? What do you want to hear? That I didn't sleep for days after the jump? That I could hardly stay in the flat because I kept seeing and hearing you? That I had to start therapy again?" He was angry and rambling wildly now. "Yeah, I got a new place and yes, I am in a proper relationship but don't you dare think that I just . . . just moved on like this was nothing," he said, motioning between them. 

"I thought we'd be the same," Sherlock said, standing up quickly and then turning away from John. "That's what I wanted. I'm sorry, but it's true -- it's selfish, but I am selfish, you know that." He paused. "But it was foolish to think that . . . I just . . . hoped. But I know now that too much damage has been done, too much time had passed. You've moved on and . . . I'm happy that you're happy." He couldn't turn around, he couldn't look at John.

"And that's it? We can't even be friends again?" John asked. He thought it was ironic that he was suggesting friendship after being in love with him, but that was . . . a long time ago. And Sherlock never felt that way.

"Of course, we can be friends," Sherlock said, though he wasn't quite sure how exactly that would work. "Of course, we can be friends." He said it again as if to try to convince himself.

John watched him closely, hating that he wouldn't even turn and face him. "Right," he said, the heavy feeling in his chest starting up again. "Then come over for dinner tonight. Meet Daniel and tell me what you've been doing for two years," he said, writing the address down. 

Sherlock's stomach turned. "Um . . ." he quickly searched his mind for what was the right thing to do. He didn't want to go, but that was selfish and therefore probably not right. "I'm not sure, but I'll try."

And he still wouldn't turn to look at him. "Right," John said, going back to the door and hesitating. "Good to have you back," he said before he left, the tears finally spilling out as he emerged onto the pavement. 

The minute Sherlock heard the door shut downstairs, he dropped down onto his chair and wept again. Because he was alone, he let it all out. He sat and sobbed until he was drained.


	3. Dinner At John's Flat

Sherlock sat in his chair for hours. All of his energy was gone. Eventually, he heard Mrs Hudson's door and then her soft footsteps on the stairs. She called his name as she pushed open the door. She walked over to John's chair and sat down. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes.

"You'll be okay, Sherlock," she finally said.

"He has a life now, without me," he said, not able to look at her.

"It's been two years, Sherlock," she said softly.

"But . . . I don't have a life without him. This is my life," he moved his hands around the flat, "and John belongs in it. But I've lost him -- I understand why, but I don't want it to be like this." His voice trailed off.

"Oh Sherlock," Mrs Hudson said, shaking her head.

"He's with someone else," Sherlock said, "I mean, he's with someone. He wants me to come to theirs tonight. To meet . . . him."  
  
"Oh," Mrs Hudson said, "I see."

"I can't do that, I can't. I told him I wanted him to be happy and of course I do, but . . . I don't want to have to . . . see it."

Mrs Hudson shifted in her chair. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I wish . . . things were different. But they aren't. You have an important decision to make. Think carefully before you do anything." She stood up and gently touched his shoulder. "Please, Sherlock. I want both my boys to be happy."

The second John got home Daniel was at the door, moving to pull him into a hug. But it felt wrong and John pushed him away, closing himself in his room. He cried for a long time -- eventually he fell asleep and had nightmares about the fall. When he woke up Daniel was beside him, petting his hair. "He thought I was pining in the flat, waiting for him," he mumbled. 

"Well, you were until I found you," Daniel murmured. John threw him a dirty look, and he had the decency to look ashamed. "I just mean that you were in bad shape when I met you and you've worked very hard to feel better. You don't need him."

"I've invited him over for dinner -- to meet you," John said.  

"What?" Daniel asked, pulling his hand away. "John, I thought you were moving on," he said a bit angrily. 

"I . . .he was my best friend," John said. "You know how I felt about him before. I can't not see him, not now that I know he's alive."

"He faked his death, John. You think that's okay?"

"Well, he did it to save us -- to save me," he explained. "I want to try and make things work." John stared at the ceiling and wondered why he was defending Sherlock so strongly. He hadn't been very nice at the flat, and John still kind of wanted to punch his face. But he didn't like Daniel being mean about him. Only John could. He sat up suddenly and got out of bed. "I have to get some things for dinner," he said. 

"I'll come with you," Daniel said, getting up as well. 

"No," John said quickly. "No, I won't be long," he assured him, leaving the flat again. 

After Mrs Hudson left the room, Sherlock stood up and moved to his desk. He took out a piece of paper and on one side wrote 'Reasons to Go To Dinner at John's' and on the back wrote 'Reasons Not To'. He started there. He wrote about every fear, every hurt. He wrote about not being able to tell John what had happened and about not being to tell John how he had felt while he was gone. He wrote about worrying that he had no place in John's life. He wrote about not wanting to meet Daniel, to meet the one who John now loved. He filled the back of the sheet with every reason he could think of that meant he should not go to dinner at John's flat. He filled it with his feelings.

He turned the paper over and stared at the words at the top. He wrote 'John invited me' and put his pen down. He got up and made a cup of tea. He returned to his desk and looked at the paper again. The decision on what was best for him was obvious. He picked up his pen and on the front wrote 'My desire to be in John's life is greater than anything else.' Because it was true. The thought of seeing John again had got him though the last two years. And now his decision was made.

He crumpled up the list and pushed it aside. He moved and picked up the piece of paper where John had written his address. He had also written his phone number which had changed. Sherlock added the new number to his phone and sent a text.

_Can I bring a date tonight? SH_

John stared at the message when it came, jealousy and anger bubbling into his chest. A date? He'd been gone for two years and he already found a date? Did he meet someone while he was away that he brought back? He had time for that but not to tell him he was alive? And how would they talk about what happened with a date? Then again Daniel would be here.

_Yes, of course. -JW_

_What time? Shall we bring anything? SH_

_No. We have everything here. Seven? -JW_

Sherlock walked downstairs and tapped on Mrs Hudson's door.

"Will you join me at John's tonight? He said it'd be okay," he asked. "Please. I . . . I don't want to do this by myself." Sherlock knew how to tug at her heart strings, but the truth was he didn't know if he could do it alone.

Mrs Hudson looked at him and said, "Okay, Sherlock."

"We'll leave at 6.30," he said, returning upstairs to the flat. He looked around. Now that he knew John wasn't coming back, he had to get it in order. He started to sort things on his desk but he kept seeing John's handwriting. He couldn't face that right now so he found an empty box and anything that made him feel anything, he just chucked in there to deal with at a later date. Within an hour it was full. He pushed it to a corner and got another box.

After a few hours, the flat was well, not tidier per se, but it looked more like someone lived in it. Like Sherlock lived in it. On his own. He poured himself a cup of tea and sat down at his desk. He opened his old laptop and turned it on. John's blog was the homepage. He read over the last post again -- he had read it a thousand times. He had checked the blog almost every day he'd been gone, waiting, waiting to hear John's voice again even if it were only the written word. There were no new posts.

He imagined John in the flat after the fall. It was a horrible picture and caused a sharp pain of sadness and guilt in his stomach. And then for some reason, he looked at the laptop's browser history.

He saw searches for grief counseling, for antidepressants, for flats to let. He saw a number of Google map results and links to John's work, John's email, to three travel agencies. There were a few porn sites, a couple of which seemed to be gay-based. And he saw Google searches for "Sherlock Holmes." There were hundreds of them -- over and over, John had searched for him.

Sherlock shut his laptop and went to take a nap. As he lay on his bed, he tried to imagine this Daniel, but he couldn't -- he couldn't picture him. All I could see was John and all the things John must have done while Sherlock was away, all the life he lived that Sherlock was no part of it. He squeezed shut his eyes and willed himself to sleep. But he dreamt of John. He dreamt that he was in a crowded club and everyone was dancing except him. He saw John dancing but he wasn't alone, he was dancing with a man and they began kissing. Sherlock stood and watched. And then the man stopped kissing John and looked directly at Sherlock. It was Moriarty.

Sherlock woke with a start. He looked at the clock, it was almost time to go. He got up and took a quick shower before getting dressed. He saw his pills in the cabinet and decided to take one, maybe it would help him relax just a little. He closed the cabinet door and stared at himself in the mirror. He could do this -- it'd only be a few hours and then at least he'd know how everything had changed and he could move on and rebuild a life without John.

He slipped on his coat and scarf and headed down to Mrs Hudson's door. She came out with a bottle of wine and some flowers.

"He said we didn't need to bring anything," Sherlock told her.

"Sherlock, guests should always bring something. Besides it's a special night -- I've not seen him for so long. And if he's got a new place, it's like a house warming. And your homecoming . . ."

Sherlock leaned in and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thank you for coming with me. I feel sick about this," he said softly. He stepped back and said, "You look lovely. You know you look exactly the same as before, you haven't aged at all."  
  
She smiled, but said, "You have. Has John?"

"I don't know," Sherlock answered, leading them out to the street. "I wasn't able to look much at him."

"Well, I guess we'll both see soon enough," she said. Sherlock gave the address to the taxi driver and they headed off.

"Will you calm down, please?" Daniel asked as John straightened the places on the table for the fourth time. "Are you upset that he has a date?"

"What? Daniel, please don't do this right now," John said. 

"Do what? He doesn't know how you felt about him so he's not going to say anything. And you have moved on so what's the big deal, right?"

John ignored him and moved around the table, fixing the plates again. Daniel sighed and went to get dressed. John had been ready for two hours, pacing and wringing his fingers so much he was surprised they were still on his hands. It was too much -- seeing Sherlock again was so much already but now they were having some sort of twisted double date. He hadn't breathed properly since he got up the morning and he honestly wondered if he ever would again. And that was when the doorbell rang and he clutched the chair he was standing by. Daniel came out and headed for the door. "No," John shook his head. "I'll get it."

He moved to the door and took several deep breaths before pulling it open. His eyes fell, of course, to Sherlock first. His breath caught in his throat and his eyes burned again because he was _alive._ And then they moved to the side and he saw Mrs Hudson. He flushed as guilt gripped his chest sharply. He didn't know what to say -- he hadn't seen her in so very long. 

"John," Mrs Hudson said, opening her arms to hug him.

Sherlock's face was turned towards John, but he was almost afraid to meet his eyes. He looked straight ahead into John's flat -- trying to take in what John's home looked like. John's home without Sherlock. And with someone else. He didn't see anyone -- perhaps he hadn't come, perhaps he didn't exist? Sherlock knew that was stupid. He urged them all forward through the door and handed John the flowers and wine. "We brought these," he said.

"I'm sorry it's been so long," he mumbled to Mrs Hudson, the tears spilling out again. "Um . . .thank you," he said, taking the wine and the flowers.

And then Daniel came into the room.

"Um. . . .this is Daniel," he said, pulling him a bit closer. "Daniel, this is Sherlock and Mrs Hudson."

"It's nice to meet you," he said to Mr. Hudson, shaking her hand. He said nothing to Sherlock, gazing at him a bit coldly. 

"Um . . . please sit, make yourselves at home. I'll . . . I'll open this," John said moving into the kitchen. 

Daniel was very handsome, and Sherlock was surprised that this was the first thing he noticed about him. He didn't look at him long -- he wasn't sure what he'd find hidden on him but, more importantly, he wasn't sure what he wanted to find. If he read only good things, Sherlock thought that would hurt. If he read something horrible, would that make him happy? It wouldn't make John happy. So Sherlock looked around the flat and didn't say anything at all. He sat down on the sofa next to Mrs Hudson.

"Isn't John's flat nice?" she said to Sherlock. "Your flat is so nice," she called into John, adding "so tidy as well."

"It's nice and it's tidy," Sherlock said quietly to no one in particular.

"Um, yes," John nodded as he brought the tray out with four glasses of wine. His hands were shaking as he set the tray on the coffee table. He didn't know who to look at or what to say. He felt guilt thinking about Mrs Hudson, awkward thinking about Daniel meeting these people from his past, and so many things concerning Sherlock. All the work he'd done to safely put him away in a corner of his mind was falling apart, and all of those feelings were rushing out, out of control through his body.  

"It's nicer than my flat, I'm a mess," Daniel chuckled, looking over at John and taking his hand. It helped a bit and John smiled softly at him.  

Sherlock took a long drink from his glass, but he still couldn't think of what to say. So he looked at his wine.

"Well, John, it's been so long," Mrs Hudson said. "What's been going on . . . I mean, besides . . . your new friend." She smiled sweetly at him and winked. "Are you still working at the surgery?"

"I am," he nodded. "I had taken a break for a long time and I only went back about six months ago. That's, um, that's where I met Daniel. He brought his mother in," he said. 

"Always the saviour," Sherlock mumbled, taking another long drink of wine. "Unless she died, of course," he said suddenly. "I'm sorry. Did she die?" He didn't really know who he was talking to or quite what he was saying. 

John flushed and gripped Daniel's hand, staring at Sherlock incredulously. 

"No, she's just fine," Daniel said coldly. "Just needed her prescription filled."  

"Good," Sherlock said. "All's well that ends well."  
  
Mrs Hudson shot Sherlock a look and then said, "What are we having for dinner, John? It smells lovely."

"I'm making lasagna," he said, looking over at her. "Daniel made the garlic bread. Um . . .how have you been? I'm sorry I stopped coming by, Mrs Hudson. It was . . . well, you know," he trailed off. 

"I know, John," she said softly, reaching out to grasp his hand. "I'm just so glad to see you and see that you're doing well." She smiled. "I'm glad my boys are all right."

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but didn't. This wasn't friendship, was it, sitting awkwardly listening to other people talk around him? He wanted to leave. He didn't want to be here. This was different than when he had been away, but it wasn't better. 

Sherlock finished his wine and perhaps it was that, combined with his pill, that made him do it, but suddenly he said, "So you're gay now." It wasn't really a question or a statement, just four words strung together that happened to come out of his mouth.

John met his gaze and swallowed hard. He flared with anger at the way it had come out -- so suddenly as if he was judging John, making fun of him or something. _I fell in love with you, you arse, and you left me!_ he screamed in his head. But he didn't say that. He felt Daniel tense beside him and he hated Sherlock for making Daniel uncomfortable -- for making fun of him. "Yes, well, when you find someone special you can't let something silly like labels get in the way," he said, holding his gaze as he did. He hoped it hurt and immediately felt guilty for saying it, for hoping for that. He got up to check the food, rubbing his forehead wearily.  

John's words did hurt Sherlock even though he couldn't quite process why. He looked away.

"Let me help you, John," Mrs Hudson said, putting her arm around his shoulder as they walked to the kitchen.

In the kitchen John collapsed into her shoulder, hugging her tightly. "I don't know what to do," he mumbled. She smelled like home and it broke his heart. 

Mrs Hudson patted John's back as she hugged him. "It's okay, you're okay now, John," she said softly. "You've got a life now, you've got someone. He's got . . . nothing." She pulled her head back and looked at John. "I don't mean to defend him, John, you know that of all the people in the world, I'm the one who comes closest to understanding what you've been through. I know it's not the same, but I loved and lost him, too. Just be gentle with him. And with yourself, love."

"I didn't mean to be . . ." he mumbled, moving to actually check the food. "I'm trying."

"I know," she said. "You know you can always come talk to me, you know that, don't you?" She smiled. "Your new beau, he's ever so handsome, isn't he?"

"Yes," John flushed lightly. "He's . . ." _Not Sherlock._ "He's good to me," he smiled softly. 

Daniel sipped at his wine, staring at Sherlock as they sat there quietly. "So. Not dead, then," he said. 

"No," Sherlock said. "Not dead." He moved forward, picked up Mrs Hudson's wine glass and took a drink from it. He looked around the room, at everything except Daniel. "Do you live here?" he threw the question into the air. 

"No, I don't," Daniel said, pouring Sherlock more wine. "I'd like to ask him soon, though," he admitted, glancing back towards the kitchen. "I think it'll be good for him to not be alone all the time."

Sherlock stood up but felt a bit dizzy so he sat back down again. "Yes, I'm sure you're right. I'm sure that will be just . . . swell. A happy family. Yes, wonderful. Will your mother move in as well?" he still couldn't bring himself to look up at Daniel. He didn't want to know what Daniel knew about Sherlock, about Sherlock and John. He didn't want to see in his face all that he'd shared with John, things that Sherlock had never shared. He didn't want to see John's life without him. He just wanted to go home. He tried to stand up again, more slowly. "I suppose I'll have to go down to the street if I want to have a cigarette before we eat, will I?" he asked.

"Oh, John said you had quit," Daniel said offhandedly. "Yes, John doesn't want that in the flat and the hall has smoke detectors," he added. 

"I started again. Things change in two years, right? That's what everyone keeps telling me," Sherlock said, standing and moving towards the door.

Daniel nodded. "Yes, they do. I'll walk down with you," he said, leading the way and not really giving Sherlock a chance to deny it. 

John and Mrs Hudson watched them walk out.

Sherlock stepped out onto the pavement and lit a cigarette. He offered the pack to Daniel.

"No," Daniel shook his head, taking a sip from the glass he'd brought with him. "What exactly are you playing at, coming back here -- to John?"

"I'm not playing. I had a life here and I left it for a while and now I've returned. That's it," Sherlock said. He took a drag on the cigarette. "I gave him a choice, you know? He chose to see me." Sherlock wasn't quite sure what point he was making, but it felt important.

"Yes, I was here when he got the letter. Look . . . he's told me a bit about his life with you and he was utterly destroyed when I met him. I . . . I love him and I don't want to ever see him like that again. He had finally started to move on so if you're back, you better stay back," he said a bit bitterly. He knew that Sherlock was John's first love, and whether Sherlock knew that or not was between them. It hurt to know John would never love him like that, and that this man had completely wasted those feelings. "He can't handle that again." 

"I am back," Sherlock said. "Do you think he can handle that?" He took another drag. "I just mean, in your opinion . . ."

Daniel shrugged. "He's not doing very well, as you saw," he said. "He's going to need time."

"And you . . . can you handle it?"

Daniel looked at him sharply before taking a breath and softening his gaze. "I helped him through a lot worse, Sherlock."

"What should I do . . . if he wants to see me again?" Sherlock said, gazing out at the street. "In your opinion . . . what would be best . . . for John?"

"You have to explain, Sherlock. He came home and he said you didn't even sound sorry . . . you have to explain," he said.

"I have explained and I did say I was sorry," Sherlock said. "There's nothing more I can say to make it clearer. Nothing I could say would change anything." He threw the cigarette on the ground and stepped on it. "And now he has you, so what good would talking about the past do any of us?" He opened up the door and headed back up to the flat.

"He needs it . . . he needs to talk about it," Daniel said, stopping him just inside the door. "He needs to talk to you, and I can't do that," he said.

Sherlock looked at Daniel. "I don't know if I can either," he admitted. He turned to walk away and quietly added, "You . . . seem to make John happy . . . thank you," before going back into the flat.

Mrs Hudson hurried to his side. "Everything all right?" she said in a low voice and then crinkled her face. "Sherlock, have you been smoking?"

"Everything's fine," Sherlock said, putting his arm around her shoulder. "I was smoking and we were talking. That's all. Everything's fine."

John hurried to Daniel and pulled him into the kitchen. "What did you do?" 

"Nothing!" he said a bit offended. "We just chatted, that's all."

"Okay," he nodded, looking out at Sherlock. "It's ready," he called.

Sherlock helped Mrs Hudson with her chair and then sat down next to her. He leaned over and whispered, "I'd like to leave as soon after dinner as is socially acceptable. I'll go by your judgment." He looked up. "Everything looks good," he said in his usual voice.

John smiled and wondered what they were whispering about. He served the food and tried to think about something to say, but it was all confrontational and he didn't want to fight here.

Daniel took a few bites and looked over at John, smiling, "It's delicious as usual."  
  
Sherlock watched John's eyes respond to the compliment, and it made him feel both sick and sad. He looked down at the much-too-big portion John had put on his plate. Had he forgotten everything? Sherlock picked up his fork and ate a bite. "As good as Angelo's," he said. God, he just wanted to go home. Was he really going to compete with Daniel to see who could compliment John more?

John smiled at Daniel and then looked over at Sherlock. "No one is better than Angelo," he said, starting on his own food.

"I am going to take some to work with me tomorrow," Daniel said. 

"Oh, so you'll be going?" John asked.

"I can stay if you want," he said.

"No," John smiled softly. "No, it's fine. It's okay. And you both will take some too. You'll probably take what's on your plate," he smiled at Sherlock.

"No, I'll eat it all. I eat like a pig now, you should see me," Sherlock said, grateful for John's smile. But then he stupidly added, "Yes, just one of the many ways I've changed in the past two years."

"What do you do, Daniel?" Mrs Hudson quickly said, trying to save Sherlock from himself.

John flushed and looked down at his food. Daniel threw Sherlock a warning look before looking at Mrs Hudson. "I work in the lab at the surgery -- I got the job after I took my mum in," he smiled. 

"Working together, eh? John Watson . . . are you sure you've changed?" Sherlock said.

"Sherlock," Mrs Hudson scolded.

"And Sarah, is she still there? What does she think of all this?" Sherlock said, moving his hand to motion between John and Daniel.

"It doesn't matter what Sarah thinks about it -- or anyone else for that matter," John said. "And yeah, I suppose I have a type," he added, holding his gaze.

Daniel looked between them and then down at his plate, mixing his meal. He wondered if John would ever tell Sherlock about how he felt, and he didn't know how he felt about that.

"And are you planning to bed everyone who works at the surgery now that gender is no longer an issue? Will you eventually move on to patients?" Sherlock said. It was like he couldn't stop himself.

"Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson raised her voice.

Sherlock pushed his plate away and then pushed his chair back as well. "I think I've finished," he said. "I'm going to go have an after dinner smoke." He stood up and walked towards the door.

"Leave," John said quietly, standing up now. He was crying again, clenching his fists. "Just go home." He was shaking, all of the words flooding to his mouth, and he could just barely hold them back.

Sherlock stood still and looked at John. God, he had missed John so much. He had memorised everything about John's presence, his face, his movements -- he had kept all that safe in his mind palace, which in turn had kept him safe and sane while he was gone. 

But John looked different now. Older, yes, but different. Everything was different.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock said to John's stare. He was sorry for everything -- for leaving, for returning, for not being able to handle John's moving on. He grabbed Mrs Hudson's coat and moved back to the table. "Come along now, Mrs Hudson," he said, helping her up. He glanced up at Daniel, knowing he had shame written all over his face and not caring that Daniel could see it. 

Mrs Hudson touched John's arm as she walked past him. And then the two of them left the flat without saying anymore.

John started crying and Daniel pulled him close, holding him and rubbing his back. John's shoulders shook as he sobbed, the murmuring doing nothing for him. He had no idea how long they stood like that but soon he was in bed and he heard Daniel cleaning everything up. 

Sherlock and Mrs Hudson sat silently in the cab. Finally Sherlock spoke, "I told him I would try. I tried and failed."

"Oh Sherlock," she said. "What is going on in your head?"

"I don't know," Sherlock said.

"I'm not sure I believe you," she said. "But if that's true, you need to figure it out. You can't do that again to John or Daniel. Or yourself. It's not good, Sherlock."

"I know," he said. "I shouldn't have come back."

"I didn't say that, love," she said. "You just need to figure out what you want to be to John now. You have to be a grown up now."  
  
"That's not my strong point," he said. 

"I know. That little show tonight -- you made that blindingly clear," she said. "You poor boy," she added, smiling softly at him. "Get your head sorted before you contact John again. Please. You can come talk to me anytime."

He looked over at her. "Thank you for coming with me tonight," he said. When they got home, he held the door open for her and said good night. He walked up the stairs to the flat and went straight to the bathroom. He washed his face, brushed his teeth, and took some of his pills. He walked up to John's room and went in and sat on John's bed.


	4. The Truth

John pulled out his phone over and over, drafting message after message and deleting every single one, crying quietly in the dark. Eventually Daniel came to the bedroom, pulling John against him. "You have to tell him, John."

"Tell him what?" he asked stupidly.

Daniel kissed his head. "You have to tell him that you loved him, and tell him every horrible feeling that you had to fight through to get over. This isn't okay -- what he did is not okay and he needs to know, John."

"He doesn't care, Daniel. I told you he thought I was just waiting in the flat for him -- like I'd never have another friend or something. He's mad that I moved on, and I don't know how to fix that."

Daniel just stayed silent and rubbed his back softly, not knowing what else to say about it.

Sherlock lay back on John's pillow and stared up at the ceiling. He knew he'd made everything worse tonight. But everything was already all wrong. He wanted to take tonight back, but more than that, he wanted to take everything back.

How could this have happened? He and John -- they were the perfect partners, they knew each other, knew everything, knew what the other was thinking before he himself did. How could this have happened?

_You made it happen._ He heard the voice in his head -- was it Moriarty's? Mycroft's? John's?

It was his own. He closed his eyes and tried to make himself go away.

When John started to fall asleep, he sat up and pushed at Daniel softly. "You have to go, you have work in the morning."

"I can stay," he murmured, reaching out for him again.

"No, I'll be okay. Go on home -- we'll talk tomorrow, okay?"

He got up and helped Daniel gather his things, walking him to the door. They kissed, but John pulled away more quickly than normal. He felt mentally exhausted, and he just wanted to lie in the dark and try and ease his mind, try and sort through everything and figure out how to move forward. He went to bed and pulled out his phone again, staring at the dark screen and thinking.

Sherlock opened his eyes. He hadn't made himself go away. He picked up his phone.

_John, I'm sorry I behaved so poorly. I am not good with feelings. SH_

John's stomach sank right through the bed when the phone lit up, the familiar name and number making his eyes well up again. How many times had he looked at his phone waiting -- hoping -- to see that name?

_How could you say those things to me? -JW_

_Because I don't know how to say what I really want to say. SH_

_Well, you really need to figure it out_

He stared at that for a moment and then deleted it. He knew Sherlock, knew how he was about sentiment and talking about things like this. 

_I'm not very good either but I was being decent, Sherlock_

He tilted his head and deleted that as well. He sighed and rubbed his forehead as he thought. 

_I don't know how to say what I want to say either. -JW_

He sent that one, wishing Sherlock would come back over, wishing they could meet and talk and try for some kind of normalcy again. 

_I should have said when you were here. I couldn't with an audience. I shouldn't have come there. I'm sorry. Please apologise to him on my behalf. SH_

_I shouldn't have invited you over so soon. We need to talk, Sherlock. Properly. -JW_

_You know I can't. Not about feelings. Especially selfish ones. SH_

_That's too bad. I'm not going to see you if you keep accusing me of sleeping with everyone at work, and frankly I've had enough of not seeing you. -JW_

_Please. -JW_

_Fine. SH_

Sherlock swallowed and wondered if this was a good idea. It couldn't be worse than what he'd already done tonight, could it?

_I want you to come home. SH_

_That's complicated. -JW_

John bit his lip and wished he could pack up right now and go back to Baker Street. But Sherlock wasn't just his friend anymore. He was a man that he loved and as he was now with a man -- he knew he'd have to tell Sherlock the whole story but he didn't want to over texting.  

_We need to talk in person, Sherlock. -JW_

_I don't want you to be with him. SH_

John's eyes leaked tears down his temples, and he whimpered softly, biting his lip. 

_I thought you were never coming back. -JW_

_I know. But I have. I want us to go back to our life. SH_

_I can't just leave him to come solve cases with you, Sherlock. He means a lot to me -- he's helped me a lot and he deserves better than that. -JW_

_I know. SH_

It made Sherlock feel sick, but he did know: Daniel didn't deserve that.

_But that's still what I want. SH_

_I can't come back just for the cases. There's a lot that I have to tell you, Sherlock. We need to talk properly. -JW_

_I don't want you to come back just for the cases. I want you to come back for me. SH_

_I want to talk in person. -JW_

_You have a key to the flat. Nothing is stopping you from using it. SH_

John stared at the message for a long time, wondering what Daniel would think about him going over there at this time of night. But he couldn't not go because this needed to be fixed.  

_On my way. -JW_

He got up and dressed quickly, packing up some of the food before leaving the flat. He was shaking his leg in the cab, nervous as trying to plan out his speech to make sure he said everything he needed to say. When he arrived he stood on the step for a very long time -- long enough to start feeling cold -- before he took the key out and let himself in, climbing up to the flat slowly. 

Sherlock kept his phone on his chest. He wasn't sure what was going to happen now. He wasn't even entirely sure John was coming up until he heard the door open. He turned off the lamp in John's room. He wasn't sure he could do this in the light.

"Hello?" John called out, remembering every time he walked into the flat talking to a man who was no longer there. He put the food in the fridge before calling out again. 

"I'm up here," Sherlock said. He was afraid to stand up. He wished he hadn't taken the pills, though perhaps he would not have had the guts to send those texts.

John looked up to his old room. He took off his coat and draped it over his old chair, climbing up slowly. When he walked into the room, he barely made out Sherlock's outline on the bed. He moved and sat on the edge of it, wringing his fingers. 

"I'm sorry . . . for everything," Sherlock's voice broke, but he knew it was now or never. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you where I was. I'm sorry I caused you so much pain. I'm sorry it's taken so long for you to be happy again, and I'm sorry I've now disrupted that happiness. But most of all I'm sorry that I never told you what you meant to me." 

John was already crying, and he didn't bother wiping his face. He hardly cared about that. "I started seeing Ella almost a year after that d-day. And . . . and it t-took a lot to get it out of me Sherlock, but she helped me realise that I was in l-love with you almost the whole time. It was the only reason I was so . . . _affected_ by the whole thing. I'm not just 'gay now' -- I was before. And I loved y-you and I was too much of an idiot to accept that. Until it was t-too late." John sighed and wiped at his nose, thankful that the lights were off. "And when I m-met Daniel, it was hard, Sherlock. He had a rough time getting me out on a date, let alone where we are now. I talked about you constantly, I d-ditched him almost all the time . . . but he stuck around and he didn't give up on me and . . . fuck, Sherlock. If I had known you were coming back, even if it was five years -- ten years -- I would have waited for you," he whimpered now, his voice completely broken. 

"I don't know what to do, John. It's obvious he treats you better than I ever did, even before this all happened. But . . . I don't want you to be with him," Sherlock said. "I want you to be here . . . with me."

"He's so good to me," John nodded. "But there are no heads in the fridge and he never bothers me at work and he enjoys movies quietly and he sleeps through the night and . . .and . . ." he trailed off and dropped his face in his hands, crying all over again. He was so very tired of this.  

"Then you should go back to him, John," Sherlock said softly. "I can't be good to you in the way he is, I'm too selfish. I'd never be able to look after you like he has. Go back to him, John, it's the best thing for you. But . . . let me say this, because I spent two years practising it in my head. When I was away, it was only you -- us -- that kept me going. I wanted to come back to my old life -- but it wasn't London or the flat or my work. It was you. You were my old life. You were my life."

John cried harder, his shoulder shaking lightly. "Aren't you . . . l-listening to me?" he mumbled. "I love you -- I want all that craziness. As good as he is . . . he's not you."  

Sherlock sat up a bit and touched John's back softly. "But he's better than me. He's better for you. As selfish as I am, even I can see that, John. Please . . . this is breaking my heart. I don't want to keep making you cry."

John turned at the touch, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's neck and burying his face into Sherlock's neck. He knew he was holding too tightly -- probably painfully -- but he didn't care. "I saw you everywhere . . . I missed you," he mumbled against his skin, trying to stop crying. 

"Tell me what you need me to know, John, say whatever you need to say," Sherlock said, holding John. This was the first time they had touched since his return, the first touch in two years. "Say whatever you need to say."

"I saw you when I came home from work or the shop, and I would start telling you stories before I remembered you weren't there. I punched Anderson for asking why I still cared about you, and I had nightmares about the fall. I settled for him because I thought I could never have you, and I hated myself for never telling you before you died." He squeezed Sherlock a bit harder. "And I am crying because you are back from the dead and . . . and I never thought I would see you or hear you or touch you again . . ."

Sherlock let John say what he needed to say. He stroked John's back as he spoke. He inhaled John's smell, felt John's breath on his neck. He was sitting with John in his arms on John's bed, and he did not want to let him go.

"You tell me something," John murmured, sniffling softly and staying in his arms. 

"You were the best thing that ever happened to me, John, you changed me and I wish I could take back every time I hurt you," Sherlock said. "I wish I could have loved you properly."

John turned his head to the side on Sherlock's shoulder, facing his neck with a small sigh. "I would have waited for a second chance," he mumbled. 

"I'll be your friend now," Sherlock said, "I'll try to be better than I was."

"My friend," John said softly, pulling back so he could try to look at Sherlock now. He just barely made out his eyes in the dark. 

"You're the only friend I've ever had, John," Sherlock said. "I can't lose you."

Friend. He kept saying friend over and over again despite everything they had just admitted. John slowly pulled his arms away and moved to sit next to him now. Was it because of Daniel? He bit his lip and nodded. "You won't lose me," he said. 

"I need to deserve you. So far, I've never deserved what you've given me," Sherlock said, resting his hand on John's. "Make him deserve you, John," his voice broke again, and he covered his face and let himself cry.

John pulled him close wrapping an arm around him and petting his hair. "I don't deserve him, Sherlock . . ." he mumbled, resting his head on Sherlock's. "Please don't cry."

"You do, John," Sherlock said weakly against John's shoulder. "You are the best man I've ever known."

John shook his head with a small sigh. "I'm not to him. I used to talk about you all the time. Everything reminded me of you, and I never hesitated to tell him. He almost left me once, said he was tired of competing with a ghost for my attention." 

"What's wrong with us, John?" Sherlock pulled his head back. Even though he couldn't see John's face in the dark, he saw it so clearly in his mind. "We're a mess, we are," he said softly.

"Yeah, we are," he nodded with a small sigh. 

"John," Sherlock said. "Stay here tonight. I'll let you go back to him tomorrow, but stay with me . . . just for tonight. Please."

"I . . . Sherlock . . ." he sighed, closing his eyes. He knew technically he could do that -- Daniel was at his own flat, and he'd be going straight to work in the morning. John didn't have to work tomorrow, and he could get home before Daniel knew he'd even left. But it would be wrong. Daniel had been so good to him. "I can't," he mumbled. 

"All right," Sherlock said, pulling back a bit from him. "I'm sorry. . . I'm sorry. I'm glad you came . . . I'm glad we talked." He was, though he still didn't know how he'd handle this new situation. His mind felt so muddled with everything.  "Will you just stay a little bit longer?" His head dropped a little. "I'm sorry . . . I'm being selfish . . ."

"I can stay a little bit longer," he nodded. "And you're not being selfish . . . we're friends and you've been away a long time. I want to see you . . . catch up," he said, trying to sound casual and normal. He leaned against Sherlock again. "I can stay longer."

"I don't know how much more I can talk, my head is . . . tired," Sherlock said. "I need to lie back a bit. Sleep . . . it's got harder since I've been away." 

John nodded. "I understand," he mumbled. "Go ahead and lay down. I will sit here for a bit," he smiled softly. 

Sherlock leaned back onto John's pillow. He turned on his side and pulled up his legs a little, curling around where John sat. "Did you sleep in this room when I was gone?" he said, sleepily. "I would picture you in here, I would picture coming home and finding you sleeping here."

"I . . . I moved into your room," he admitted quietly. "The nightmares weren't so bad there."

"Maybe I'll sleep in here from now on," Sherlock said.

John nodded, scooting up the bed a bit to reach his head, petting softly. 

Sherlock closed his eyes. "I've always loved you," he said. "From day one."

John's fingers stilled and his hand rested on his head. "I have as well," he whispered. 

"I still do."

John's fingers curled lightly. "I always will."

"What are we going to do, John?" 

"I'll . . . I'll talk to Daniel," he said quietly. "I just -- I need some time."

"Would you lie down with me?"

"Just for a bit," he murmured, shifting and laying down beside Sherlock, on his side to face him. 

Sherlock lifted one hand to John's face and he slowly stroked John's cheek. "I've missed your face so much."

John covered Sherlock's hand with his own. "I've missed everything about you."  

Sherlock turned his hand to hold John's. He pulled it to his lips and kissed John's fingers.

Heat flooded through John's body, and he closed his eyes as he small sigh escaped him. That small action made him feel more alive than Daniel had in months, and the thought made him feel strange. "Sherlock . . ." he murmured. 

"I'm sorry, John," Sherlock said. "Should I stop?"

"No," he whispered, opening his eyes again.

Sherlock moved John's hand across his lips and then his cheek and around into his hair. Then he moved his own hand to the back of John's head and pulled it towards him. He leaned in and kissed John's mouth.

John's hand gripped into Sherlock's hair, and he pressed hard into the kiss, desperate and needy. 

Sherlock held the kiss, getting lost in it. John's smell, his taste, everything. The kiss felt like home. He never wanted it to end. But he knew it would have to. He pulled back, "I'm . . . sorry, it's selfish . . ." He dipped his head.

John gasped softly when Sherlock pulled away as if all the breath was sucked out of his body. "Don't be sorry about kissing me . . . please."

"I'm not . . . I wanted this to happen . . . just not like this -- not when you'll be leaving and going to someone else . . . I don't want to be the reason for more hurt." It was so hard to be honest when all he wanted was to get lost in another kiss.

"I'm going to come home," he promised. "I just . . . I need time," he mumbled. "Just a little bit."

"Then . . . we should wait," Sherlock said. "Even though I don't want to." He moved his fingers in John's hair.

"You're always so sensible," he murmured, smiling softly. "I know we should wait. I . . . I should probably go."

"I love you," Sherlock said again. It was so easy really -- why hadn't he said it before? 

"I love you, too," he said softly. 

"I will do whatever you need me to do," Sherlock said, "I'll leave you alone as long as you need me to, and if you change your mind, I'll try to accept that."

"Don't leave me alone," he said quietly. He reluctantly sat up and got out of the bed. "I . . .I want us to be friends while I speak to him, okay?" He debated over asking for another kiss for the road, worried about getting stuck and being unable to leave. "I am going, okay?" 

Sherlock felt his eyes fill again but he said "Okay" in the clearest voice he could find. He was so tired, this was all so big. "Just tell me what you need, and I will try to give it to you," he said softly. "I don't want you to go," he added because it was true. "I know you have to. I'm going to stay here in your bed. I'll wait for you here."

John reached out and stroked his cheek. "Will -- will you kiss me? Just one more time?" he asked softly. 

"Sit down," Sherlock said as he pulled up himself up. He wrapped his arms around John's body and then leaned in and pressed his lips to John's. He wanted the kiss to tell John everything. He wanted the kiss to make John know what he meant to Sherlock.

John reached up and rest his hands on Sherlock's neck as they kissed, slower and a bit more controlled this time. He felt warm and happy and loved. His eyes welled up at the thought of having to go. He pulled back gently and rest his forehead on Sherlock's. "Thanks," he said. He stood and reluctantly pulled his hand away. "Thank you," he repeated. 

"I will never leave you again," Sherlock said. "You'll always know where I am. I'll be here, waiting for you." He smiled softly.

John kissed the top of his head. "Good night, Sherlock," he said quietly, turning and walking out of the room. He moved quickly now so that he wouldn't change his mind, knowing that he really did need to get home. He hailed a cab and thought about their kiss as he headed home.  

Sherlock closed his eyes and went to sleep with the thought of kissing John.


	5. John Tells Daniel The Truth

When John finally got home everything seemed to be completely different. He felt like he was in a stranger's home, moving through the room quietly as he got ready for bed. He lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling for a long time, playing the kiss over and over in his head. Each time a similar heat would spread through him at the thought of it, making him smile stupidly for a few minutes until he would think about Daniel. He thought about what he was going to say to him and knew that it was not going to go well. There would be no easy way to end it with him, and he was just going to have to suck it up and face it. He shifted his mind to Sherlock again, to his lovely face and his smile and the two kisses they shared and just like that it all seemed a little easier. He fell asleep thinking about Sherlock and for the first time in a long time he had a nice dream about Sherlock -- about going out to dinner with him and holding his hand as they ate. 

Sherlock slept through the night. The previous day had been so exhausting in so many ways. He opened his eyes and imagined seeing John there next to him. It would be good. He rolled on his back, closed his eyes and thought about what had happened last night -- the horrible stuff at John's flat and the very nice stuff here. It was . . . just good to finally be with John like that.

He opened his eyes again and remembered that this was still complicated. John wouldn't get over his hurt in just one day. And then, of course, there was . . . him. He didn't hate Daniel -- he hated that Daniel had been able to do what Sherlock couldn't before: love John. He obviously did. He didn't deserve to be in the mess that Sherlock had made. 

When John woke up the next morning, he had message half typed out to Sherlock when he felt a bit guilty and realised he should probably write to Daniel first. He sent Daniel a good morning before texting the same to Sherlock. 

Sherlock reached for his phone. He smiled when he saw John's text.

_I'm still where I was. I wish you were too. SH_

_I wish I was, too. I miss you even more now. -JW_

John made sure it was actually going to Sherlock before sending it.

_Whenever you're ready, I'm here. SH_

Sherlock stretched a little but decided to stay in bed a bit longer. He had nothing really to do, and until he did, he was worried he'd spend too much time overthinking everything that had happened and might happen. He curled up a little and went back to remembering kissing John.

Daniel texted back about meeting for lunch and John agreed, dragging himself out of bed for a shower. He would not tell Daniel about the talk from last night now because he knew it was going to be intense, and he didn't want Daniel going back to work with that. When he was finished he set out, meeting him at a small cafe near his work.

"You look better," Daniel smiled, kissing his cheek.

"Yeah?" John asked, looking down to his menu. "Um . . . Mrs Hudson called and apologised -- she didn't do anything, of course, but I know how she and I both know he is," he said, surprised that he had started off with a lie.

"Doesn't make it right," Daniel muttered.

John glanced up and nodded silently. After a minute he asked, "Can I come over tonight?"

"Of course," Daniel said as they ordered. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," John nodded. "I just want to come by," he said, looking down again.

"Oh. Okay, um, I'll make dinner?" 

"Sure," John smiled softly.

Once Sherlock had finally got himself up, he went out to get the papers. He picked up some flowers as well as when he returned to the flat, he stopped and knocked on Mrs Hudson's door. When she opened it, he gave her the flowers.

"I'm sorry for my behaviour last night," Sherlock said.

She smiled and took the flowers, motioning for him to come in as he she put them in a vase. "Are you feeling better? You look better," she asked. 

"Yes, I had a proper sleep," he said.

"And John?" she asked.

"John didn't sleep here," he said, a little too quickly.

"I know, I meant, have you thought about how you're going to deal with John? You should apologise to them, you know," she said, fussing with the flowers.

The word 'them' stung. Sherlock cleared his throat a little and said, "I've apologised. John and I talked a bit. Progress, I think." 

She smiled. "Just be careful, okay?"

"I will," he said. "I'm going to work a bit more on the flat, sorting it." He turned and went upstairs. He continued his work from yesterday. Although he felt a little bit better than he had then, he decided to still use the boxes for anything that held too many memories. He could deal with those things later. And then he cleaned. He scrubbed the kitchen and bathroom and removed the layer of dust that covered most things. He pushed open one of the window to get in some fresh air.

John made small talk as they ate and then decided to walk home after Daniel went back to work. He was practising his speech again as he waited for Daniel to get off of work. He lay down for a while and thought about Sherlock, wishing they were kissing again.

Sherlock took a break and made a cup of tea. He picked up his phone.

_I've cleaned the flat. You wouldn't believe it. SH_

_I don't believe it. You must be very, very bored. -JW  
_

_I am. Things here are ready for you. SH_

_I am having dinner with him tonight and I will tell him. -JW_

Sherlock's stomach flipped a bit. Suddenly he couldn't pretend things were normal. What if John changed his mind? What if Daniel reminded him of all their good times compared to all the times Sherlock hurt John? He wanted John to do what was best for himself, but Sherlock wanted John to choose him. He didn't want John to be with Daniel, to love him or kiss him. He wanted John to be with him.

_Do what's right. I'm here if you need me. SH_

He sent it though it felt stupid, not enough. Here he was once again, already, bringing more stress into John's life.

_You're what's right, Sherlock. -JW_

Sherlock smiled.

_I won't disturb you. I promise. SH_

_Okay. I'll talk to you afterwards. -JW_

Sherlock tried to go back to cleaning, but he struggled. It was too hard to forget what John was going to be doing later. But he did his best. He tried to tell himself that he was making the flat their home again.

As John waited for the time to pass by, he thought about Daniel and Sherlock. Sherlock had been right to say that Daniel treated him better -- Daniel was sentimental and emotional in all the right ways, and he knew how to process those things and help John with his own feelings. But he knew he would rather fight through walls and misunderstandings with Sherlock any day for what they had before. John craved the adventures and the odd habits that had become his life. He had been enveloped in everything Sherlock, and he was hooked. And as unhealthy as it might be, he was happy and that was all that mattered.

He knew Daniel wouldn't understand -- he was safe and normal, and he would be so upset and the thought really did break John's heart. He had been so good to him, and this is how he was repaying him. But now that Sherlock was back -- and especially after last night -- they could never keep dating. John would always be thinking about Sherlock, and that would be even worse for Daniel.

When the time came he changed his clothes and took a cab over there, letting himself in to wait for Daniel.

When Daniel got back from work, he noticed the door was unlocked. "John?" he called, as he walked in.

"In here," he called out from the sitting room, tilting his head to see him coming in.

Daniel went over and gave him a quick kiss. "What's going on? You okay? Has something happened?" He sat down on the sofa next to John and reached over for his hand.

John was a bit startled that they were going to be talking right this second and hoped he could have put it off a bit longer. He took a quick breath and nodded. "Yeah. I . . . I spoke with Sherlock," he said, not mentioning when or where.

"I'm glad," Daniel said, looking relieved. He stood up, "Do you want tea?" He got up to make some. "So how did it go?" he called from the kitchen. "Did he act more like an adult?"

"Yes," John nodded. "He apologised for last night and asked me to pass that on to you as well," he said. He looked down at his hands not even registering that Daniel had asked anything else. "I told him about how I felt . . . "

Daniel brought John his tea. "I'm glad," he said, smiling softly at him. "I'm sure it was hard, and I hope you don't think I bullied you into it, but it's the only way you're going to move on, John." He reached over and held John's hand again. "Do you feel better?"

John gripped his hand and shook his head. "No," he mumbled, looking up to meet his eyes. "You're so good, Daniel. Such a good . . . just good person . . ."

Daniel reached over and touched John's face. "Shush," he said softly, "you're the good person. To give him another chance . . . that takes a kindness, John, I don't know if I could do it. But look, I'll try, for you -- I mean, I know I don't matter here, but if you want to invite him over again or whatever, I'll be open-minded. I just want you to be happy."

"Daniel . . ." John shook his head, tears spilling out. "I . . . I love him . . .I still love him," he whispered.

"I know you do, John," Daniel said, pulling John towards him and putting his arm around him. "That's how the first one is . . . it doesn't go away. Don't try to make it. It's all part of moving on. And the way yours ended . . . well, it makes sense that those feelings would still be around," he stroked John's back softly. "Think of how far you've come -- just in the time since I've known you. You're a smart man, John. All those things we talked about, all those times you talked about wanting to move forward. Yes, it's going to be hard. But you know you can do it, John, and I'm here, I'm here to help you do it." He leaned over and put a kiss on John's head. "We can do it together."

John shook his head. "I went to see him last night and we . . . kissed. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry but . . . I love him," John cried softly.

Daniel's body tensed, but he didn't move away. He sat quietly for a moment, still stroking John's back mindlessly. "John," he said. "I know this is confusing -- two days ago you thought he was dead. I know it must be overwhelming . . . but let's just think about this for a minute." He sat back a little and put his hand on John's chin, lifting it so he'd look at him.

"All that time you were close -- he never showed any interest, right? That's what you said. You said he never showed interest in anyone, that that wasn't really a part of who he was. And then he leaves you. For two years. And when he comes back, you're all right, you're happy. With someone else, a man. And all of a sudden, he's kissing you?" He smiled softly. "Come on, John, I barely know him, but last night at dinner? He doesn't want you to want anyone else. He'll do anything -- make scenes, involve that poor woman, kiss you -- he'll do anything to make himself the centre of your world again."

John was getting overwhelmed, willing him to understand. He sat up and held his face, meeting his eyes. "I love him," he said. "And if I had known he was coming back I would have waited for him. I'm sorry, Daniel. I'm so sorry because you have been so good to me and you deserve better than this . . . but I love him."

"Listen, John," Daniel said softly. "There's a lot going on right now, it's confusing, it'd be easy to feel confused. And he knows that . . . " He paused. "I don't understand him, but I understand jealousy. He's jealous -- and why wouldn't he be? He knows what a good man you are. But he left you and just now . . . as we're getting more serious . . . now he appears and sparks your old feelings? Think about it, John."

"It's not quite like that," John said quietly. "Of course he's jealous, but you know he's always in my head. I've never properly let him go and I-I settled," he mumbled, looking down now so he wouldn't see his face. "But now that he's back, and he loves me, and I have the chance to be with him . . . that's what I want." He felt his chest hurting with it all and wished he could make Daniel understand.

Now Daniel pulled back more sharply. "You . . . settled?" He could feel tears coming to his eyes. "I thought you . . . loved me. You said you did." He wiped his cheek with his hand. "Were you lying, John?"

"No," John said quickly, shaking his head. "I do love you, Daniel. Of course I do but -- but he's the first. I'm -- I'm in love with him," he said quietly, wiping his own cheeks. "I won't be able to stop thinking about him . . . and I would want him and you don't deserve that. You deserve so, so much better than me."

"John, please," Daniel said, his eyes overflowing again. "Last week, you loved me. You loved him, too, I know that, but it was okay. We were happy. And now, he doesn't want me around and you're going to throw everything we had -- all the progress you've made -- you're going to throw all that away? For what? He's going to pull you back into that world and when he leaves you again, what then?"

"He won't," John mumbled pathetically. The rational side of him told him to stop this -- Daniel was right, Daniel was a good man and he'd saved John the same way Sherlock had saved him. The difference was that Daniel didn't live in a world that required fake deaths and criminals. But John craved that excitement -- he craved Sherlock. And what if he did leave again? What if a month from now he realised sentiment and feelings weren't for him and he disappeared again? John started to cry harder at the thought, and he covered his face.

"Let me ask you something, John," Daniel said slowly. "On the slight chance that in a week, you miss me -- is he going to understand? Is he going to offer you an ounce of comfort?" He reached for John's hands. "Look at me. I love you. We were starting to build a life together -- I wanted us to live together. We love each other, John. The truth is he doesn't even know you anymore. He doesn't know the noises you make in your sleep, he doesn't know about the fight you had at Christmas with Harry, he doesn't know how your face lit up when we saw that meteor -- remember those times we spent together? Those things are real life, John, our life. Maybe it's not as exciting as chasing murderers but it's real. It matters . . . it used to matter to you. Two days ago it mattered to you."

"He told me to pick . . . told me to do what I wanted and he would be here either way," John mumbled. He was already looking down again, his lip trembling. "It does matter, Daniel, and I don't want you to think it doesn't, or that it never did."

"I'm not going to fight with you, John," Daniel said. "I'm not going to fight a battle I know I've already lost. The minute you opened that letter, John, you left me."

Neither of them said anything for a few minutes.

"I think you're making a mistake, John," Daniel said. "It breaks my heart not only because I'm losing you, because I'm worried he'll hurt you. Even if you don't want me anymore, I don't want anyone to hurt you ever again. Fighting you -- that would just hurt you. And let's face it, I can't fight against him. He'll always win and it'll just hurt you. And me." He moved back from John. "I don't know what else to say."

John wanted to pull him close, to bury into his chest and make everything better but he knew he didn't deserve that comfort. "I-I never thought I'd see him again and-and I feel like I have a second chance and I'm sorry . . . I'm so, so sorry that I have to hurt you like this. It's selfish. . ." He trailed off and looked at his hands, wringing his fingers. "He was my first love...I'm sorry..." He knew that if he stayed with Daniel he would think about Sherlock every second. He would want to go on cases, he would ditch Daniel for cases, and it wasn't right. He wondered how far this relationship would have gone if Sherlock hadn't come back. "I'm sorry," he said again because he didn't know what else to say.

"All right," Daniel said. "I don't think there's anything more to say. Now it's my turn to be hurt, I guess. I don't even know him, and he's hurting me . . . but there's nothing more to say, John, except please understand: this is not what I want and this is not what I think is best for you. But I don't control you. I've no choice but to respect your decision. I won't make your life miserable -- I won't hurt you . . . I'll just . . . miss you because I love you." He turned a bit on the sofa. "Go, John, let me cope on my own. I hope you find the happiness you deserve."

John started to cry harder and he wished Daniel would call him names or hit him. "You're…you're so good," he stammered, standing up slowly. "I never deserved you," he mumbled before turning to go, leaving his key by the door. He hailed a cab and gave Sherlock's address, realising he'd forgotten that key in his flat. He knocked on the door and wiped at his face trying to pull himself together.


	6. Sherlock Tells John The Truth

Sherlock turned at the knock -- was it John? Why didn't he just use his key? He couldn't wait until John saw the flat, all cleaned. "Come in," he said, excitedly.

John pushed the door open and climbed up the stairs, still sniffling softly as he walked into the --their? -- flat.

Sherlock stood up. "What's wrong? What's happened?"

"Wha-?" John pressed his hands into his eyes for a second. "What's happened? What's happened is I broke that man's heart, Sherlock. He is a good person, and I hurt him to be with you. Now I love you, Sherlock, I do. But if you leave me again I will kill you with my bare hands because he deserves better than this," John rambled, crying all over again. "He deserves better than me, and I hope it was for a good reason."

Sherlock said nothing, but just looked at John. He wanted this to be happy, he wanted John to be happy. But he wasn't. Obviously. "I . . . I thought you wanted this." He sat down near John. "He'll be okay. I'm sorry it was difficult."

"I do want this," John said quietly, wiping at his face. "But I need to know that you do too -- that you're not going to get bored with the relationship in a month or . . . or leave again."

"I told you I wouldn't leave, John," Sherlock said. "I did mean everything I said last night."

"Ever, Sherlock. I don't care if Moriarty somehow comes back from the dead or a new maniac comes around. You can't ever leave me again because . . . I'll die, Sherlock. I won't make it -- especially after all of this."

"John, don't be dramatic. I won't ever do that to you -- I know I didn't understand the hurt I caused. I do now. I won't ever do that to you again," Sherlock said. "If something were to happen, I would tell you. I don't want to make you sad again."

John swatted his arm when he called him dramatic, and as he spoke John leaned over and lay on his shoulder. "Okay," he murmured. "And I really would die," he added softly.

"Stop saying that," Sherlock said. "This is supposed to be good -- stop talking about dying." He let John rest on his shoulder and it felt good, John touching him. "I'm glad you're here," he said softly.

John took his hand and nodded against him. "I'm glad I'm with you," he said quietly.

"Are you done crying now?" Sherlock asked. "I don't like it, and I don't know what to do when it happens." He rubbed John's fingers with his own. "I wish I did, John, but I don't."

"Shh," John said quietly, closing his eyes and resting against him still. He knew Sherlock wasn't good with these things but he had really hurt Daniel and now he was hurting -- he really did care about the man.

Sherlock didn't say anything for a few minutes. "Are you going to move back here, do you think?" he finally asked. "I want you to, but I'll understand if you don't. I don't want to admit this really, but it seems we aren't going to be quite the same as we were before. I hope it's better . . . but I will understand if you want to wait." 

John nodded. "I want to . . . soon," he promised. He was silent for a few minutes. "We'll be okay," he murmured.

"I've cleaned the flat," Sherlock said. He felt stupid really -- he had been so eager for John to come home, but now it felt . . . well, it didn't feel like he'd expected. He could understand logically why, but he just wished it felt different. "Um, do you want to talk about what happened with Daniel? You don't have to, but you can if you feel like you want to."

"He was so . . . nice," John sighed. "He didn't even care that we kissed. He said he would help me keep you both."

"I don't like that idea," Sherlock said. "I don't want you to be with him. I know it's selfish, but I don't. I just want it to be us."

"I know," he said. "I didn't want that either."

"I hope you're right about what you think you want," Sherlock said, looking over at the window.

"What?" John asked, pulling away from him a bit. "Don't -- don't do that."

"Don't do what?" Sherlock asked.

"I am sure," John said. "But you know this is hard for me, and I don't need you to give me doubts. I need . . . I just need you." 

"John, if my saying that gives you doubts, perhaps you are not so sure," Sherlock said, even though he hated that this conversation was taking place.

John's eyes immediately welled up. "It hasn't even been an hour," he mumbled. His chest felt tight again.

Sherlock stood up. "It hasn't even been an hour and already you are having doubts? John," he said but he didn't know how to follow that up so he didn't say anything else.

"Yes because I just left -- I can see his face still and I need you to remind me why I'm here! You left me for two years and you came back out of the blue and -- and last night you were not talking like this! I've turned everything upside down for you again -- like always -- and you're just accusing me of making a mistake!" John stood up and walked away from him, trying to suck in some proper breaths.

"Stop there, John Watson," Sherlock said firmly. "Stop this now." He dipped his head motioning for John to sit back down. Sherlock sat on the sofa next to him. "Close your eyes and take five deep breaths. No talking."

John closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, ignoring the tears that slipped out. He wanted to stop crying. He wanted his chest to stop feeling heavy and his brain to stop pulsing with sadness. 

"Go back in your head to last night in your room. It's in there, you've already thought about it a lot today. I hope. I have. Go back and remember what I said. I said I was worried that I couldn't take care of you like he does, I said that perhaps he is better for you. But I also said I wanted us to be together and that I'd never leave you again. I said all those things last night. I've not said anything different today." He reached over and held John's hand. "I don't know what you've just gone through, I've never had to go through it. I don't know what to do to make it feel less sad. I think it might just be sad. So you should just be sad, I'm sorry that I was trying to ignore your sadness." He swallowed. "However, you mustn't turn that sadness into something else. Don't let it cause doubts. If you have doubts, you have doubts and quite frankly no one would blame you. But don't invent doubts to try to avoid the sadness. And don't accuse me of creating doubts. Take five more deep breaths before you say anything, please."

John took the breaths slowly just as Sherlock asked. "I'm sorry. I don't have doubts. I am sad. I'm confused, angry, hurt, and happy -- too many feelings at once to make sense of."

"When we met, I didn't know how to be a friend but we became friends, though let's face it, not everything went perfectly. I don't know how to be more than friends either. But John, I know I love you and I know I want this. I'm sorry I'm not like him, but I will try to take care of you," Sherlock leaned against John's shoulder.

John leaned against him and took his hand again. "I love you, Sherlock. Even though you're emotional inept," he smiled softly.

"That's hurtful, John," Sherlock said, smiling. "True but hurtful." He turned his head towards John. "Should we kiss -- even though it's light out and we can see each other?" 

"Hey! I know I'm not a looker but if light is going to be a problem we're in trouble," he smiled softly, turning to look at him.

"I just meant . . . it'll be different now, won't it? Because . . . you know why . . . it'll be different and I'm nervous. I might do it wrong. It's easier in the dark."

"It's not," he shook his head, leaning in bit closer. He reached up and touched Sherlock's cheek, closing the space and pressing their lips together.

Sherlock leaned into the kiss. When he pulled back, he said, "That was pretty easy to do, even in the light. Was it okay?"

John nodded. "It was lovely," he smiled.

"You know what would make the next kiss even lovelier?" Sherlock said softly. 

John met his eyes. "What's that?"

"If you first commented on how clean the flat was," Sherlock said, smiling.

John couldn't help but laugh. "It's so clean, Sherlock. I feel like I'm at a hospital, honestly," he joked.

Sherlock's cheeks flushed because he was so pleased John had noticed, even if he had had to force him to notice. "All right then, let's try again and see if I was right," he leaned in and kissed John, a little harder this time, his hand moving to the back of John's head.

John hummed and relaxed into the kiss, into the touch of his hand and the closeness of his body. He knew this was right -- his whole body felt warm and comfortable. This was where he belonged.

Sherlock moved his head back from the kiss and pressed it into John's chest. "Am I your boyfriend now?" he asked softly.

"Yes," John smiled softly, the word seeming too small to describe exactly what they were.

"And what's in this for me? I mean, what benefits come with the position of being your boyfriend?"

"My kisses," John said seriously as if that were the greatest gift of all. He grinned to himself.

"Hmmm . . . is that it? To be honest, John, I'm not sure that's enough. I mean, the last person who interviewed me for this job offered me a lot more."

"Is that so?" John asked, properly amused now. He'd never seen a flirty Sherlock before and he liked it. "May I ask what my competitor is offering?"

"Well, this was a while back, so you may need to make some adjustments for inflation and all. But the basic package included meals, covering for me when I skipped class, unlimited use of his bicycle and kissing," Sherlock said. 

"Hmm . . ." John hummed, pretending to think. "Okay. How about this: I can make you better when you're sick, unlimited use of my laptop, meals and tea, kissing, and I'll fend off your brother for a whole month." 

"Tempting . . ." Sherlock said. Then he turned his head away slightly and said, "Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you, John?"

"That there's someone running around out there that I am going to have to fight?" John asked quietly, petting Sherlock's hair now.  

"No, think a little bit harder, please," Sherlock said softly.

"I don't . . ." John trailed off and rest his head against Sherlock's. "I don't know, Sherlock . . .is it that you love me?" He felt stupid saying it, but he tried anyways. 

"I already told you I love you. This is something new," Sherlock said. He kept his head turned to the side. "I'm trying to tell you that the last time I even came close to being someone's boyfriend was when I was seventeen years old. And to be fair, my tenure in that position never moved past the probationary stage."

"You . . . you're a virgin?" John asked softly, smiling into his hair and rubbing his back now. 

"Jesus, John," Sherlock said. He swallowed. "I'm just saying I've never been anyone's boyfriend before. So I've never done any of the things that boyfriends do. Like being romantic and buying anniversary gifts and . . . the other things."

"Sorry -- I didn't mean to ask like that, it just . . . it surprised me," John said. "You're romantic in your own way -- you always have been," he said. "And with that brain of yours I doubt you'll ever forget an anniversary. I'm not worried. You should not be worried either," he smiled. 

"Well, I am," Sherlock said. "You have lots of experience -- you used to date all the time. It's been years since I did . . . anything, since I had anything even close to a relationship. For you, it's been an hour and a half. I feel . . . stupid and nervous."

"How can I help?" John asked, moving to meet his eyes. "I don't want you to be worried or to feel stupid."

"There's nothing you can do really. You can't take away your experience. Just . . . don't make fun of me, even if you're just teasing. At least at the beginning," Sherlock said. "I'm not lying -- this makes me anxious. I think it's partly why I never said anything about how I felt about you . . . before, I mean."

"I wouldn't! I-I won't, Sherlock, I promise," he said. "And if anything comes out wrong please tell me -- I'm afraid of hurting you accidentally and I don't want to."

"It's just . . ." Sherlock said, "Just know it won't be like with him. None of it -- I don't know how to be a good boyfriend like that, I don't know how to do the things a good boyfriend needs to do." This was torture, really, but somehow he felt that John's knowing would be better than his not knowing.

"Sherlock, if I wanted to be with him then I would have stayed with him," John said gently. "Being a good boyfriend isn't just remembering anniversaries and experience . . ." 

"I know," Sherlock interrupted. "It's also kissing and . . . sex. He knew how to do those things. He did those things with you. I've never . . ." The thought of John and Daniel made Sherlock feel a bit sick to his stomach.

"No! Sherlock, that doesn't matter! You could be the greatest sex partner in the world but if I want to stab my eyes out being around you than it's nothing!" He took a deep breath. "You make me feel alive, Sherlock. High with happiness . . . I love you and the fact that you love me is so wonderful that we could never have sex and I would still pick you. You could forget every anniversary but if I get to wake up next to you, I could die happy. You are everything that I need." 

"You didn't want to stab your eyes out when you were with him. Don't lie," Sherlock said. "He made you happy. I saw it -- I saw it with my own eyes at your flat. Don't act like you weren't happy." He felt like he should look at John, but couldn't. "And don't act like sex isn't important -- I've lived with you, John, I know you. Sex is important to you."

John rubbed his forehead, slightly frustrated. "I was just making a point, Sherlock. Besides, if you really must know, we didn't have sex that much. We'd only been together for six months, and I am still kind of getting used to being with another man. And you don't get to tell me what's important to me, Sherlock. Yes, I craved sex before because it felt good, but look who I was getting it from -- women I hardly had feelings for," he said. "I just want to feel good, and I am telling you that being with you feels good."    

Sherlock lifted his hands to his ears. "Stop talking about your having sex with people! I hated that before, and I hate it a thousand times more now."

John flushed and looked down, reluctantly removing his hands from Sherlock. "That's not all I said," he mumbled. 

"I know but I'm pretending I stopped listening to all of it so I didn't have to hear the sex part," Sherlock said softly.

"Don't, you prat. I'm trying to explain how much I love you," he said. 

"Well . . . where's my tea? You said that was part of the bargain," Sherlock felt so stupid now, he wished he could take back what he said. John had just left a good boyfriend -- broke the heart of a man he loved -- and Sherlock decided this was the best time to reveal this information? God, he felt so stupid.

"Well, I was a bit busy confessing my undying love," John said, getting up and moving into the kitchen. He started the kettle and leaned against the counter to wait for the water. 

"I've ruined everything, haven't I, John? I couldn't even make it one day without . . . doing the wrong thing," Sherlock said.

John took a long, slow breath. "No. You haven't ruined everything. You just . . .you have to relax and trust yourself . . . trust me," he said. 

"I do trust you," Sherlock said. "But . . . you know how I am, John. I'm not good at these things. I don't want to do things wrong and make you regret." Sherlock wondered if John thought he was talking about the relationship or sex. Then Sherlock wondered which one it was before realising it was probably both.

"Yes, I know how you are and I chose you anyways," he reminded him. "Do I need to remind you that I know what life is like without you and I never want to live like that if I can help it? I am not going to regret being with you."

"Well, what are we going to do about the sex stuff?" Sherlock asked, wishing it was dark in the room. 

"Do you want to have sex with me?" John asked. 

"Yes, I think I do," Sherlock said softly.

"Then we will. When you're comfortable. When you're ready for that. And when we do I will guide you, and your instincts will kick in and we will be fine," he said, coming out with two mugs of tea.  

"When is this going to happen?" Sherlock asked.

John shrugged. "You can't really schedule it in," he said. "When you're ready, we will." 

"I'm ready," Sherlock said.


	7. Sex

John paused, putting his mug down slowly. "What?"

"Look, I've had longer to think about this than you have. I've had two years . . ." he hated bringing it up but he couldn't deny that he had thought about John in that way while he'd been gone. And even before he'd left, though then he'd just pushed those thoughts away. "I kissed you last night, remember?"

"Yes," John nodded. "And you kissed me five minutes ago before having a near panic attack at the thought of us having sex." he finished softly. "There is no rush."

"I didn't have a panic attack and that'd better not be making fun of me because I have a verbal guarantee from you that you wouldn't do that," Sherlock said. "I'm not trying to rush. I'm just saying, I'm comfortable. I mean, I will be nervous, but I'm ready to be nervous. You're home now," he said, "we're together again. It's like it should be." 

"No, I am not making fun of you, Sherlock. You did panic a bit," he insisted. He looked into Sherlock's eyes for a long moment, trying to read them -- to read him and see if he truly meant that or if he thought John was some sex maniac that would leave if he didn't get it. "Let's go upstairs," he said finally.  

Sherlock's stomach flipped a little, but he said okay as he stood up and held John's hand.

John remembered his first time with Daniel as they headed to the stairs. He had explained every single part so thoroughly that John could hardly get into it, and he was terrified of ruining it for Sherlock the same way. He realised now where Daniel had been coming from because he felt the need to warn Sherlock about what things would feel like and he didn't want this to be a lesson. He wanted Sherlock to feel good. When they got into his room, he leaned up and kissed Sherlock's mouth, pressing him lightly against the door as he deepened the kiss. 

Sherlock let John kiss him and he kissed him back. He put his hands on John's hips -- had he ever touched John's hips before? He kept kissing John, opening his mouth slightly and closing his eyes.

John pushed his tongue forward gently and tasted Sherlock's mouth, exploring and letting him do the same. His own hands moved down his shoulders and across his chest, making their way down his stomach and his side, stopping there to hold him. 

There was a tension growing in Sherlock's body -- he recognised it, it was a good feeling. "Can we lie on the bed?" he said quietly.

John nodded, pulling him gently and laying down with him. He turned on his side and pulled him in for a short kiss. "Before we go on . . . do you want me to do it to you? Or do you want to do it to me?" 

"I don't know," Sherlock said, because he really didn't.

"Have you thought about us doing this before?" he asked, petting his hair as they talked. 

"Yes," he said quietly. "Kind of."

"And what did you see?" John asked, his tone matching Sherlock's. "How did you see us?"

"Kissing. And touching and pressing against each other . . . I'm not sure about the details," Sherlock said, even though that wasn't entirely true. Mainly he thought about this when he was masturbating, and he usually came before he actually got to the sex part. He swallowed and, wanting to be truthful, added, "I've thought about the details, I guess, but I don't really know what either feels like."

John nodded, leaning in to kiss him again. "We'll start with other things then, and work our way up. We'll do what feels right," he said, kissing him again. His fingers played with the hem of his shirt, grazing his skin. 

"John," Sherlock said into the kiss. It _was_ John. They were home and together. He felt an electricity every time John touched his body. It felt good. He slid his arms around John and pressed him closer.

John melted into the kiss, deepened it with a small moan. He pushed the fabric of Sherlock's shirt up but didn't pull it off, not wanting to break the kiss. He splayed his fingers over bare skin, touching and gliding over everything he could.

Sherlock untucked John's shirt and slid his hands underneath. John's skin was warm and he traced his hands over the muscles of John's back. He felt a little twinge in his cock, a feeling he hadn't had in quite some time.

John moaned at the touch and arched against his hands, breaking the kiss now to take Sherlock's shirt off and straddle his hips. He touched his shoulders and his chest before leaning down to kiss his neck, gently nipping at the skin. 

"Yours too," Sherlock said, wanting them to be as equal as possible.

John sat up again and pulled his shirt off, tossing it onto the floor. He stayed up to give Sherlock some time to touch him before he came down again and continued his trail of kisses downward. He dipped his tongue into the hollow of Sherlock collar bone before moving his kisses to his chest, licking between them and tasting his pale, soft skin. It was so good to feel . . . and even more so that he could let go this way with Sherlock. 

Sherlock closed his eyes and concentrated on John's mouth moving across his skin. It was so soft and nice, but at the same time, the weight of John's body on his was also making him hard, which he felt a little embarrassed by even though he knew that that was kind of essential for whatever was going to happen.

"You're so lovely," John murmured into his skin, making it to the top of his stomach and pressing harder kisses into the softer skin. "Gorgeous."  

"John, don't say those things," Sherlock said quietly. "I'm sorry, it's just unusual . . ." he took a deep breath and tried to focus again. He let his hands rest on John's bare shoulders. "That feels good," he whispered.

John nodded and pressed a hard kiss just over his belly button. He stayed low as he tugged on Sherlock's trousers, slowly lifting himself up to pull them lower and lower. "Can I take these off?" he asked softly, pausing at the point where Sherlock would have to lift his hips. 

"Yes," Sherlock said. He was only a little nervous about this. He had a feeling John had probably seen him naked before -- he had had a habit for walking around in a sheet -- but obviously he'd never seen him with an erection. But it was darker in John's bedroom than downstairs, so he felt okay. He lifted his hips.

John tugged them the rest of the way down and dragged his eyes up to the bulge in Sherlock's pants. He looked up and met his eyes for a moment before placing his hand over it, gently palming through the thin fabric. 

"John," Sherlock exhaled. There was something reassuring about saying John's name. "I want this," he said, because he did. He was nervous, of course, but everything felt so right and good.

"Tell me, love," he murmured, palming a bit harder, gripping him around the fabric and stroking gently. 

"Keep doing that," Sherlock said, "but I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"Exactly what you're doing . . . whatever you feel like doing," John said. "Can I take these off as well?" he asked, keeping up his steady hand movement. 

"Yes," Sherlock said, lifting his hips again. He felt like lying there and just feeling what John was doing to him, but it didn't seem like enough. But since he didn't have any other ideas at the moment, he just stayed there, letting himself sink into the bed and be touched by John.

After removing his pants John continued to stroke him properly, his grip light and his movement steady. He leaned over again and pressed kisses onto his lower stomach, moving down onto his groin. 

"John, are you going to use your mouth?" Sherlock asked, looking up at the ceiling.

"Is that okay?" John asked, having intended to ask when he was closer to actually doing it. He rested his head on Sherlock's thigh, waiting for the answer. 

"Yes, I want you to," Sherlock said. There was no going back now, this wasn't like last night, this was properly sex. If John changed his mind tomorrow, Sherlock's heart would be broken a thousand times worse. He tried to stop thinking about that, about John changing his mind. John knew now, he knew that Sherlock had no idea what to do. And he seemed to be okay about it. He pictured John's face in his mind, he pictured them kissing and then he relaxed into what was happening and how good it made his body feel.

John smiled and licked a stripe up along his shaft, swirling around the head. _You have a knack for that._ He remembered Daniel's words very suddenly, and they made him flush. He pushed them away and focused on the sounds Sherlock was making -- his slightly heavy breathing and the small sighs when John's breath ghosted over his cock. He swirled the head again before sucking it into his mouth, starting a slow bob up and down as he took more of Sherlock into his mouth. 

"God, John," Sherlock said, his hips lifting slightly. "God," he said again. He reached down and let his fingers slide into John's hair. He separated his legs a little, feeling the warm skin of John's arms and sides against them. "That feels so good."

John hummed around him and moved lower, properly swallowing around him and hollowing his cheeks as he moved. His hand stroked his thigh lightly. 

Sherlock stopped breathing for a minute. Then he remembered he needed to so he took a deep breath. "Don't stop," he said quietly.

John pulled off and chuckled softly. "Wasn't planning on it, love," he murmured before swallowing Sherlock down again, deeper and faster now. 

Sherlock's hand moved to the bed and he gripped the sheet. It was getting too . . . he was getting too close. Even though he didn't have these feelings very often, he recognised them. "Wait, now," he said, "I'm sorry, it's just . . . too much, just wait for a second, I don't want to -- too fast." He slipped one of his hands to cover his face, and he tried to control his breathing. _  
_

John pulled off as soon as Sherlock told him to wait, pressing light kisses on his inner thigh. "Just breathe, Sherlock. It's okay," he whispered. 

Sherlock lifted his head a little. "I want to touch you," he said.

John looked up at him and nodded, crawling up over his body and kissing his mouth softly. "Anything you want," he murmured. He moved beside Sherlock and then lay on his back, opening his arms a bit in invitation. 

Sherlock put his hand on John's arm, pulling him up to face him. They were in the same position as last night, and this made Sherlock feel warm. He ran his hand softly over John's chest as he leaned in to kiss him. He moved his mouth down to John's neck, kissing and sucking there. His hand lowered to John's waistband. "Will you take these off?" he asked.

"Sure," John murmured, unbuttoning his jeans and lifting his hips to take them off. He considered taking his pants off as well but he worried it might be too much -- it would be better for Sherlock to decide when he wanted that. Also he didn't want Sherlock to think he had to do anything further than asking John to remove his jeans. 

Sherlock palmed John through his pants but then slipped his hand inside. John's skin felt warm and soft. He wrapped his hand around him -- it felt familiar, it felt like when he touched himself. He moved his hand slowly at first, like he did to himself. "Is this okay?" he said softly. 

John breathed out heavily and nodded. "Yes that's . . .it's good," he murmured. He lifted his hips lightly into Sherlock's hand, his fingers curled around the sheet underneath him. 

"Tell me . . . tell me if I need to do something different," Sherlock said, still stroking him slowly. "Faster?" He kissed John's neck.

"Anything," John murmured, tilting his head a bit for the kisses. "Your hand feels fantastic."

Sherlock pressed himself against John, rocking against him a little. He lowered his mouth and kissed John's chest, flicking his tongue against his nipple. His hand went a little faster, all the way up and down John, like he would do to himself.

"That -- do that again, please," John said, his nipple hardening at the cool wetness. He arched his back a bit and sighed at the feeling of it, lightly touching the side of Sherlock's head. 

Sherlock moved his tongue around John's nipple, kissing and sucking it softly into his mouth. He kept moving his hand and hips.

"Oh," John sighed, squirming lightly at the continued assault on his nipple. His hips bucked up a bit harder. "Yes . . . feels good." 

Sherlock moved to the other nipple. Then he pressed his lips against John's chest. "Will you tell me you love me?" he said into John's skin.

"I do love you," John said, bringing his hands up to touch his shoulders. "I love you so much, Sherlock, and I'll tell you all the time if you want." 

"I love you, too, John," he lifted both hands to John's face and pressed into him, kissing him hard. "I love you," he repeated.

John smiled, pushing curls from his forehead and stroking his hair. "I love you," he said again, holding Sherlock's gaze. 

"So what's the next part of the sex stuff, o wise one," Sherlock said smiling at him. "Or are we stopping for the night? I don't want to, but we can if you prefer." 

"I was hoping with some foreplay you might gather your thoughts and decide which way you want to do this," he said, smiling up at him. "If you think its too much right now we can just . . . use our hands or my mouth," he offered. 

"I want to ask a question but I'm afraid the only way you can answer is by relying on your previous experiences which I do not like thinking about, so while I would like an answer, can you think very carefully about your words so I don't end up dwelling on unpleasant things?" He swallowed. "Is it going to hurt if you do it to me?"

John gazed up at him and wondered if this was a good time to tell him that he had only ever done it to someone else (not wanting to use Daniel's name now) and didn't actually know how much it would hurt. He decided to avoid that for now. "Um . . . it probably will a little bit, but with lube and gentle stretching it shouldn't be too bad," he said. 

"This may surprise you, but I don't have any lube here. Does that mean we can't do it?"

"Something we . . ." he said carefully. "There's something else . . . I've never done it, but I can try it with you." 

"John," Sherlock said, "be careful with your words, but . . . okay, let's try. What do I do?"

"Lay on your back and pull your legs up," John instructed. "I'm going to use my mouth to -- to open you up," he mumbled, his face flushing at speaking the words out loud. He realised now this sounded like he'd been opened up, but he remembered changing his mind and wanting to switch, using the lube instead of his mouth. John had never tried to bottom again after that. 

"Okay," Sherlock said, taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling. "I trust you, John, I want to do this."

John kissed his stomach and nodded against it before he dipped down, pecking kisses on his inner thighs. He moved inwards this time, pooling saliva and pressing his very wet tongue to Sherlock's entrance. He licked and used his mouth to ease the muscle, his tongue flicking out harder and harder until he gently pushed through, pressing his tongue in and out. 

"Fucking hell, John," Sherlock said, "that feels good." He relaxed his body, just concentrating on what John was doing and how it felt. He tried not to think about what would happen next but the truth is, he wanted more, he wanted John to do everything to him. It was like he had waited all this time for a reason: he was waiting for it to be John.

John was surprised to feel himself flush with pleasure and happiness. He had felt awkward when Daniel did this, but then again that hadn't been Sherlock. Everything was better with Sherlock -- pleasing him was as good as pleasing himself. He worked the muscle, his tongue properly opening him up. When everything was dripping wet, he brought his hand up and gently pushed his finger in. As soon as he did he realised he didn't have any condoms. "Fuck," he swore softly, moving his finger gently back and forth.  

"What's wrong? Is something wrong?" Sherlock said, looking down at John -- so odd to see him between his legs. "It doesn't hurt, have I done something wrong?"

"No! I'm sorry . . . no," he said, kissing Sherlock's thigh a couple times. "I just realised I don't have condoms," he murmured. He kept moving his finger so the muscle would stay relaxed. 

"What should we do? This feels good, we can just do this for tonight. Tell me what we should do," Sherlock said.

John sighed and rest his forehead on his thigh. "I know that I'm clean," he said quietly. "But I can't ask you to just take my word for it," he added. "You tell me how far you want to go -- I don't mind either way," he assured him. 

"I don't want to stop -- keep doing what you're doing and we can go out later and get some," Sherlock said, "Please don't stop -- it feels good and I want to . . . I don't want us to stop."

"Okay," John nodded. He pooled saliva again and let it fall onto his entrance, gently pushing in a second finger now and pumping slowly.  

"John, this is good -- you're making me feel good," Sherlock said, "this is what I've wanted. But I'm not doing anything for you, I feel like I should be." He was worried about being selfish because in truth he could so easily just lie back and let John do this to him until he came.

John bucked into the mattress for some friction just as Sherlock said those words, and he stopped a bit guiltily. "Later for me," he murmured. "I like making you feel good. Don't worry, okay?" He spread his fingers lightly, pushing at an angle to find his prostate.

"John, god," Sherlock had never felt anything like that -- this was a million times better than just masturbating. He reached down to hold his cock, even though he was pretty sure he could come just from what John was doing. "Keep going, please, it's . . . god, John. . . " He was struggling with words now.

John was writhing into the mattress now, steadily pumping his fingers into Sherlock, brushing his prostate and kissing his thigh. He murmured encouragements to Sherlock between kisses, telling him how gorgeous he was, how good he was doing, and how good he felt making Sherlock feel so good.

"John, I'm going to come, I'm going to . . ." the muscles in Sherlock's body tensed and his hips lifted and he froze. It seemed to last forever, and then he dropped onto the bed. "God, John, god . . . please get by me," he raised his arms, which seemed so heavy, to reach for him.

As Sherlock came John shoved his hand down between his legs, lifted his hips from the bed and stroked himself quickly, focusing on his sounds and the way he tightened around his fingers. John came onto the bed, panting as he slowly pulled his fingers out of Sherlock and finally crawled up to lay beside him. 

"John, that was . . . everything," Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and buried his face in John's chest. "I love you."

John held him tightly, kissing the top of his head. "I love you too, Sherlock. I'm glad," he smiled.

"I'm sorry I didn't do more," Sherlock said softly.

"You were perfect," John said, kissing his head again. "Please don't feel bad. I liked it -- everything."

"It was perfect for me, too," Sherlock said. "Why did we never do that before?" he said, smiling.

John chuckled softly. "We were being idiots," he said quietly.

Sherlock looked over at John and stroked his hair. "This is right, John," he said softly. "I know it's been hard in so many ways, but it's right. I know it is."

"I know, love," John said quietly. "I'm sorry it took your death for me to get the feelings out. I won't ever keep things from you again."

"We're okay now," Sherlock said, pressing against him. "I just don't want there to be any more sadness for anyone."

John nodded. He knew that this high would soon wear off and he'd be left thinking about the fall, about Daniel, about all of this. But now . . .this was lovely. "I don't either," he murmured.

"I don't want to lose you -- I don't want to lose any more time with you," Sherlock said, squeezing into him. "We belong together."


	8. Sex Again

"I'm not going anywhere," John promised.

"Except to the shop to buy condoms?" Sherlock said, kissing John's cheek.

"Right, yes," John grinned. "In the morning, okay?

"Fine," Sherlock said, curling against John. "But now might be a good time to remind you that -- on occasion -- I can get fixated on certain things, especially when they are new and intriguing. What we just did was both new and intriguing, and I kind of wish we could do it all the time now."

"That's normal -- wait," he said, glancing down. "Are you telling me you want me to run out for condoms now?"

"Um, I'm telling you that I'd happily go out for condoms right now. But I'm also satisfied to stay here like this for the rest of the night," Sherlock said, cuddling him again. "As long as you promise we'll get them the minute we wake up," he added quietly, "because I do want to do it."

John whimpered softly at the sound of those words. "We can go now -- I'll go now," he said, moving to sit up.

"We can go together," Sherlock said. "Can I go with you? I promise to behave appropriately or at least try to."

"Of course you can," John nodded. He looked for his clothes, pulling on his shirt as he stood up. "Everyone will know what we're doing," he grinned.

Sherlock sat up and grabbed his clothes. "What do you mean 'everyone'? Are you planning on stopping at Mrs Hudson's and telling her we just bought condoms? Only the shop assistant will know, John. Do you care? I don't."

"It was an expression," John smiled softly. "And no, I don't mind. Ready?"

"Do I look different now?" Sherlock said, smiling. "I feel different, I think."

"You look very handsome," John grinned, grinned, leaning up to kiss him but stopped short. "One second," he said, running into the bathroom. He brushed his teeth quickly and came back, smiling into the kiss. "Come on," he said, pulling Sherlock along.

Sherlock made a note on what John was doing and they headed out. On the street, Sherlock said, "Mrs Hudson will be so glad you're home." 

"I feel bad, you know, for not speaking with her for so long. It got . . .it just got so much harder the longer it went on," he shrugged, looking down at their hands. 

"Well, if there's one thing we've learned together, even if something feels difficult, it's better not to wait," Sherlock said. "But you know her, she'd forgive you anything. She just wants things like they were before as well."

"Yeah," John nodded, gripping his hand. "She's good . . . you're both good," he said, looking up at Sherlock as they arrived. He pulled the door open for Sherlock.

"You'd better do the talking, John," Sherlock said, smiling, "I might be tempted to do something foolish."

"There's no need for talking," John smiled, leading the way to the small section of the aisle. There were a lot of boxes, sizes, textures, even flavors. He glanced at Sherlock to try and see what he thought.

"John, I have no idea -- if I were on my own, I'd pick the one with the purple box just because it's prettiest. You choose," Sherlock said, smiling.

"I just wanted to see what you thought of all this," John said. He looked at the purple box and saw it was ribbed. "Maybe just regular for now," he added, picking a regular, plain box and some lube, and headed to the counter. The man looked between them as he rang John up, scowling lightly. John grinned a bit sarcastically. "No need for a bag," he said, relishing the look on the man's face as he pulled Sherlock out of the shop.

Sherlock smiled and followed John. "You are different, John," he said, "however, I find this change highly pleasing." He squeezed his arm.

"How am I different?" John asked, raising his brows a bit and smiling.

"Before you would have thrown a fit if anyone had even thought you might be using those for gay purposes," Sherlock said, smiling at him. "Admit it."

"Only because I was . . .confused." John waved his hand as if that was so long ago.

"I'm glad you're no longer confused," Sherlock said. As a lady walked past them, Sherlock looked at her and said, "This man is my boyfriend" and pointed to John. She just kept walking. Sherlock looked at John and laughed.

John flushed lightly but grinned up at him. "Really?" He looked across the street and saw a man walking. He called out so the man looked over at them. "This man is my boyfriend," he said, pointing to Sherlock. The man grumbled something and kept walking.

"You're a fool," Sherlock said, heading back into the flat. All of a sudden he felt a little nervous again. Were they going to get straight back into bed? Would he be able to get excited again? He often went months without wanking. He took a deep breath and waited to see what John wanted to do.

John took off his coat and fished their purchases out of the pocket. He looked over at Sherlock and paused, tilting his head a bit. "What's up?"

"Are we going to go do it right now?" Sherlock asked.

"Do you want to?" John asked, smiling softly.

"Yes," Sherlock said, "I want to try but I don't know how it'll be."

"If I'm still doing it to you, it'll be like my fingers but . . . more. It'll be slow," he assured him.

"It's not that," Sherlock said. He couldn't really put into words what he was thinking. "I'm just nervous, I guess, you know me -- I like to know what I'm doing."

John nodded and took his hand, leading him upstairs slowly. "I know you do, but that wasn't bad before, was it?"

"No, it wasn't bad at all," Sherlock said smiling. He lay down on John's bed. "Now what?"

"Well, we have to get our clothes off again," John smiled, putting the stuff on the corner of the bed and pulling his shirt off again.

Sherlock leaned over and put off the lamp. Then he took his clothes off. "Sorry, I think I'm less nervous when it's dark."

"That's okay," John said quietly, slipping his jeans and pants off. "That's because you don't believe how beautiful you are," he murmured. He climbed into the bed and rubbed his thighs lightly.

"Don't . . . don't say things like that," Sherlock said, reaching down and touching John lightly.

"I can't help it," he sighed softly, leaning down and kissing the middle of his torso, right where his chest turned into his stomach. 

"Well, try, please," Sherlock said. It made him feel too uncomfortable, but he didn't want to talk about it especially now. "Shouldn't your mouth be concentrating on other things anyway?" he added, trying to lighten things.

"Cheeky," John teased, moving down and taking Sherlock's cock into his mouth without hesitating. He groped for the bottle of lube, pushed at his legs, and poured some into his hand. As he bobbed up and down he rubbed Sherlock's hole, still a bit tender. He slowly pushed his finger into him.

"Yes, John," Sherlock said. It almost felt a little better this time as there was no anxiety now about what it would feel like. He pressed down against John's finger and then reached down to lose his own fingers in John's hair.

John hummed at his eagerness and slowly pumped his finger, dripping a bit more before adding a second one.

Sherlock let his body rock against the movement of John's fingers. "You're so good to me," he moaned softly, referring to more than just what John was doing at the moment. "I missed you so much . . ." This was getting all his feelings mixed up in his head, but they were all related to John so he hoped it didn't matter that he wasn't totally making logical sense.

John pulled off and kissed his groin. "More than just my mouth and fingers, I hope," he teased, swallowing him down again. He dripped a bit more lube, spread his fingers lightly, and then added a third one.

"Everything -- even the annoying things," Sherlock said and then moaned at John's third finger. "It's . . . making me want more," he said. “Is that normal?" His hips were moving freely and he shifted his legs a little just because he was so full of urge.

John pulled off again and nodded against his thigh, watching his fingers disappear into Sherlock. "Very normal . . . means you're ready," he murmured. He slowly pulled his fingers out and sat up on his knees, his hands fumbling a bit to open the condoms. Finally he got one and rolled it on, stroking himself with the lube to get properly hard. He leaned over Sherlock, kissing his mouth. "Ready?" He asked quietly, pecking the corner of his mouth.  

Sherlock leaned up into John's kiss. "I am," he wiggled again -- his body was tense with want and a bit of anxiety.

John lined up, pressing the tip against the pulsing muscle. He pressed their lips together again before pushing into Sherlock very slowly, fingers curled tightly against the bed as he held back from bucking into him.

Sherlock felt every movement, concentrated on every precise feeling that shot through his body. It didn't hurt, it was . . . unusual, but it was so intimate and suddenly it was like every emotion he'd ever had in his life was filling his chest and he almost thought he couldn't breathe and he grabbed John's arm and called out his name, wrapping his arms around him. "I don't want to stop, I'm okay, it's just . . ." and then he buried his face in John's shoulder and felt tears spill out of his eyes. "John," he said again, squeezing him more tightly. 

John paused and shifted to wrap an arm around him, holding him tightly and kissing his temple. "It's okay," he breathed. "It's okay, Sherlock. I love you so much . . . I missed you too . . .I missed you and now we're both home where we belong. I'm all yours . . . and you're mine and I . . .I love you." He whispered against his skin, into his hair.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock said. "I'm sorry for everything -- I need you, John." He kept his head pressed against John's shoulder and then he took a few deep breaths. He lifted his face and smiled weakly. "I'm okay, honest," he pressed a small kiss to his mouth.

"I need you too. I've always needed you from the first day we met," he said, kissing him back. John lay him down again and followed, staying closely over him, pulling out slowly and pushing into him again.

"I want you, I want this," Sherlock said, closing his eyes and focusing again. He'd just deal whatever feeling the came up as it happened. He breathed into John's movement. "Go slow like that for a minute, it's good . . ."

John nodded, pecking kisses along his jaw and neck as he moved very slowly and steadily.

"I feel like I want you to go faster now, is that okay?" Sherlock asked.

John shook his head against the crook of his neck. He pressed harder kisses there as he started to roll his hips, feeling the tightness sliding around him as he moved. "Fuck . . . you feel good," he murmured, and not just physically, but the fact that it was Sherlock that he was losing himself in.

"No, it's you," Sherlock said. He tried to move his hips against John's as he ran his hands down his back. He wished he could do something, do more, but it was overwhelming, this closeness, this fullness, and he also wanted to memorise it totally. He couldn't think of a time in his life when he felt such an urge, so much want. "Harder," he said quietly.

John moaned at the word and complied, speeding up only a bit more but pushing into him, sliding back slower than he pushed forward. He filled Sherlock over and over, grunting softly against his neck.

"Yes," Sherlock gasped, "that, keep doing that . . ." He shifted a bit. "I need . . .I need to . . ." he slid his hand in between their bodies, reaching down to stroke himself. "I need to . . ."

John couldn't help moving a bit faster, thrusting into Sherlock as he panted against his neck. He wished he could stroke Sherlock himself but both hands were holding him up, clutching the bed to help him control his hips.

Sherlock was afraid to do too much, so he just held himself, letting the movement of their bodies create some friction. "I want you to come, John," he panted, "with me." Sherlock's face felt flushed and hot -- his whole body did. He looked up at John's face, which was also red and damp with sweat. He smiled because it was John and they were doing this together, finally.

John whimpered and nodded against his throat. "Yes . . . m'close," he assured Sherlock as he pushed his weight onto one arm. The movement of his hips faltered a bit and became a bit more frenzied. He laced the fingers of his free hand into Sherlock's hair and caressed his head and cheek kissing his mouth. "Close . . ." he said against them.

"It's . . . now," Sherlock said and his body tensed and he squeezed shut his eyes and his hand stopped moving. His legs closed around John. His heart beat so loudly he worried it would explode.

"Now," John assured him, thrusting in one final time before he came. His back arched, and his vision blurred as every nerve exploded with heat and feeling. He called out for Sherlock, moaning for him as his body shuddered to the pulses.   
  
Sherlock squeezed around John, holding as their orgasms moved through them both.

John forced his eyes open to watch him come, covering his hand with his own and moaning his name.

Sherlock felt like he was sinking back into the bed, like he was both heavy and weightless. He felt John's heart beating against his chest. "John," he said softly, between heavy pants.

John slowly pulled out and removed the condom. He lay beside him, but on his side and close, limbs curled around Sherlock possessively. 

"I don't know what to say," Sherlock said stupidly.

"That's okay," John smiled softly. "Do you feel okay? Are you hurting?"

"I'm good," Sherlock said, "I'm . . . happy. Was it okay -- did you like it as much as . . . other times?"

"It was so much better," he sighed.

"I didn't do much, I'm sorry," Sherlock said, "was it okay, though? Don't lie . . . I just want to make you feel good, like you make me," Sherlock said, turning to cuddle him.

"I did feel good," John smiled, shifting to hold him comfortably. "I loved making you feel so good -- loved that you shared that with me."

"I loved that it was you . . . it'll only ever be you, John," Sherlock said, pressing into John's chest.

John felt a small regret about Daniel -- had he known Sherlock was coming back, known that they could have had this, he'd have waited to have his own first time with Sherlock. But he took solace in the fact that he would be the first to see anything Sherlock decided to try from now on. He smiled and kissed Sherlock's temple. "I love you so much," he said.

"I love you, too," Sherlock said.


	9. A Grown Up Relationship

Sherlock moved and lay on his back, his arm still under John. "Hmmm . . . I'm sore now," he said, crinkling his face a little.

John bit his lip. "Sorry . . . but I think that's normal as well," he said. "Do you want to take a warm bath?"

"Maybe," Sherlock said. "Do you kind of love a little being the expert here, Dr Watson?"

"I love it a lot," he smiled, looking over at Sherlock.

"Well tomorrow, I'm giving you a quiz on ashes and if you don't pass, I will first laugh in your face and then lecture you on the differences." 

"Not fair," John whined playfully. "Ashes are more boring than this," he smiled.

"Well . . . maybe. They're less sweaty, you can't deny that," Sherlock said laughing.

"I'm a bit offended that you think ash is more fun than me!" John laughed.

"I'm not saying that," Sherlock said. "I'm just saying . . . I don't know what I'm saying. You've turned me stupid with your shagging."

"Good -- finally we're on a level playing field," John grinned.

"Say something sweet," Sherlock said, "or I'll turn over and pout."

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," John murmured.

Sherlock smiled. "But that's only because you don't get to see you," he said. "I might turn over now but not to pout, just to rest. Will you spoon me? Be gentle." He kissed John's nose softly.

"I don't know how someone spoons aggressively but I'll try and control myself," John teased, scooting much closer and wrapping around him.

"Just be careful with my backside, I mean," Sherlock said, "I don't think it can take another one of your invasions this evening." He slid his hand around John's and squeezed.

John chuckled softly at the word 'invasion', kissing the back of his neck. "Okay," he promised, closing his eyes and tugging the covers over them.

"John?" Sherlock said softly. "Are we always going to sleep in your bed?"

"We don't have to," John said quietly. "I think it's a good idea to pick one as our room when I move back in, but really we could sleep anywhere."

"We could sleep in one and the other could be for pouting, you know if one of us needs to stomp off somewhere and slam the door," Sherlock said. 

"Okay," John agreed. "That's a good idea -- like a toddler's time out room," he smiled.

"Hey," Sherlock said, suddenly serious, rolling over and facing him, "are you calling me a child?" 

"I thought I was using the time out room, too," John said.

"Realistically, though, we're talking about me -- I bet you never had to use a time out room with him, did you?" he rolled on his back and looked up at the ceiling.

"Well, he didn't live there so it was different," he said quietly. 

"You know what I mean -- that was a grown up relationship . . ." Sherlock said. He wished he hadn't begun this, but he had and it felt like it was important.

"Sherlock, this is a grown up relationship," John said gently.

"Just because of the sex, you mean? I don't know about the rest of it," Sherlock said.

"No, not just because of the sex. I don't want to talk about Daniel and the childish things he did, okay?" He turned and kissed Sherlock's cheek.

"I'm not talking about him," Sherlock said. "Well, I guess I did bring him up . . . I'm talking about us or me . . . or you putting up with me. Before . . . you looked after me, like I was a child. That's not how a grown up relationship should be."  
  
"Our relationship is already so different from before. I like our relationship -- I like you," he murmured.

"But . . . what if you liked the person I was before but I'm not that person anymore? I was horrible to you at your flat -- did you like that person? That was me, John," Sherlock said. He was quietly working himself into a worry that he didn't want to face.

"I love every part of you. No one is a hundred percent good, Sherlock. But we work through it, forgive each other . . . that's what adults do."

"Is it? That's not what you did with Daniel," Sherlock hated that he seemed incapable of remembering that just because something popped into his head didn't mean he had to actually verbalise it.

"Of course it is," John said, turning to face him again.

"Do you think he'd agree with you? If someone asked, 'What did you do tonight, Daniel?' do you think he'd say 'John and I worked through the Sherlock problem'?" Sherlock rolled over away. He did not know what he was doing and wished he could stop. 

"Well, no, because we broke up. You don't work through a break up, you move on. Why are you doing this -- what's wrong?"

"I don't know . . ." Sherlock said. He thought for a moment. "Because I'm afraid you'll change your mind."

John touched his shoulder, rubbing lightly with his thumb. "I won't, Sherlock. I love you and I'm planning on staying as long as you'll have me."

"I know you believe that, John, but maybe you shouldn't be making so many big decisions so soon after my return -- what if it's just shock and you wake up and think 'oh my god, what have I done?'"

John pulled his hand back. Daniel's words flooded into his head about being by his side to help him cope with Sherlock being back, wondering what John would do if Sherlock left him again. He turned onto his back and curled away from him. 

"John Watson, I've been back for just two days and I've ruined your relationship and I've ruined our friendship . . . I'm worse than I was before, not better," Sherlock said softly. He covered his face with his hands.

"Ruined? This is what ruined is to you? I-I almost died when I thought you were dead and you've given me life again by coming back. And yeah, my relationship with Daniel is ruined but this -- being with you -- makes me so happy." His voice broke and he sat up, trying to resist actually getting out of bed.

"Don't go," Sherlock said, pulling his arm back to touch John. "I am afraid I'll ruin everything, John . . . I never want to hurt you and I'm afraid I will . . . I'm so inept at everything."

John wanted to shake him -- to tell him that he was doing just fine until he started with all this worrying and pushing John away. John looked down at his hand where it touched him. "Just . . .love me," he said.

"But I did before and look how wrong that went . . ." Sherlock said. He could feel tears spill from his eyes.

"I mean openly -- not the pining we were doing before. I lived with you for so long. You know that I don't scare easily. Please just don't -- don't push me away," John said quietly.

Sherlock knew that that's exactly what he was doing -- not deliberately, but it was like his head (or was it his heart?) was saying get the hurt over now before it becomes even harder. He turned himself over and pressed into John, wrapping his arms around him. "I'm sorry," Sherlock said. "Thank you, John." 

John slouched down and kissed his head. "Never be afraid to talk to me, okay? Even things like this -- I don't want you bottling them up and driving yourself crazy, okay?"

"I'll try, John," Sherlock said. "God, being your boyfriend is really exhausting." He leaned his head back and smiled.

John chuckled softly and pet his hair. "You'll get used to it," he grinned. 

"Can we kiss some more?" Sherlock asked. "I don't think we should . . . I don't think I could again, but could we just kiss?"

John nodded, slouching down a bit more and pecking his mouth. "We can kiss whenever," he murmured, kissing him properly, but gentle and slow again. 

Sherlock let John kiss him for a minute and then he kissed back. He hoped he was doing it all right. He tried not to think of other people John had kissed. But it did seem natural, comfortable -- like something he just did rather than tried to do. He easily got lost in it. 

John slipped into a comfortable rhythm and movement, his hand resting on Sherlock's neck while his thumb stroked his jaw lightly.  

Sherlock slid his arms around John's waist and rested his hands on John's lower back. It was strange that they were doing this -- that he could touch John like this whenever he wanted to. Strange and very good. He wished they never had to stop.

"Are you going to sleep here tonight?' he asked in between kisses.

John was surprised by the question. "Of course," he nodded, curling around Sherlock. 

"I'm glad -- I don't want you to ever go even though I know you have to," Sherlock said, leaning in and kissing John's neck softly.

"I've waited a long time to fall asleep in your arms and to wake up beside you," John said quietly. 

"I thought about that many nights while I was away -- it helped me sleep," Sherlock admitted.

John nodded. "Me as well," he said. "Especially in the beginning when everything still smelled like you."

"Even though I knew I'd be back one day, I never thought it would happen," he whispered.

John closed his eyes. "I never thought . . ." he trailed off and buried his face into Sherlock's hair.

"I know, I'm sorry," Sherlock said. He held John tight. "I'm sorry."

"I can't wrap my head around the fact that you're here. That you're in my arms . . . alive," he murmured.  

"I hate that I hurt you, but I promise I will never lie to you again," Sherlock said. "Even if what I have to say is difficult, I will never lie to you again."

John kissed his head hard. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I . . .thank you for coming back. I had a dream once that -- that it was all a lie, but you met someone and decided to just stay away and years later I saw you." He squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to cry, his lip trembling lightly. 

"John," Sherlock said. "Please tell me you never really believed that -- you never really believed there'd be anyone other than you."

John shrugged. "It would have been easy -- everyone had already moved on." He was speaking so quietly now he could hardly hear himself. "I had so many nightmares -- saw so many different things." John wondered if Sherlock remembered that, when he jumped, it had honestly looked like Moriarty had got to him, that he honestly thought everyone thought he was a fake. John had felt guilty at not being able to convince him otherwise, felt like he'd failed as a friend. "M'sorry..."

"No, John, don't say sorry -- don't. Nothing you did had anything to do with any of that," Sherlock said. "Please believe that because it's the truth. You were never anything but . . . good."

"I-I thought he got into your head and . . . and I couldn't get you back," he mumbled. 

"John, no," Sherlock said, holding him more tightly. "I know I can't change what you thought then. But John, know that it's always been you, you're the only who has keeps me right."

"I know now," he said. "I know about the snipers, the proper plan behind it. I feel stupid. I feel stupid because I fell into the trap -- I doubted you because I thought you believed him and the things he said and I never once considered there was another plan. Even though I knew you. I thought I knew you."

"You did know me, John," Sherlock said. "Your instincts were right, weren't they?" He kissed John's forehead. "You got it right -- I just had more tricks to hand to confuse everything. But you were right, you knew not to believe in your heart even though everything else was telling you different." He kissed him again. "You do know me, John Watson, which makes it all the more surprising that you also love me."

"At the beginning I had dreams of . . . pushing you off the roof myself," he mumbled. "I felt like I had and it took a long time to accept that I couldn't have done anything." He curled into Sherlock and sighed. "I never stopped believing in you."

"You did everything right -- you did what I needed you to do to save your life. But more importantly, you did everything right as my friend. You did believe in me -- I've memorised everything you said in that phone call. Knowing you believed in me . . . helped me," Sherlock said. "Thank you."

"I know you don't want to hear about him but . . . the first time I was supposed to meet Daniel for dinner, I ditched him and came to your grave instead. I . . . I asked for permission because I felt guilty." John bit his lip and closed his eyes. "I never wanted to hurt you again -- to let you down."

"I guess I must have given it to you, then?" Sherlock said.

"No," John said. "But when Ella found out she said if I didn't branch out and try to move on she was going to put me in a group therapy -- she was worried I was going to start sleeping out by the grave. She wanted a report of the night so I had to go. He was nice," John added, unable to deny that he had been a nice man, that he had helped John get back to -- or closer to -- normal. 

"I hadn't wanted you to be so sad," Sherlock said. "I didn't want to think about your life going on without me -- because I am a self centered prick -- but I knew that not telling you the truth was a kind of letting go. Ella was right in her advice." He shut his eyes. "I'm glad he was good for you."

"When she tricked me into confessing that I loved you, I almost stopped seeing her," John admitted. "It seemed like a sick joke -- all the times I denied being gay, being your date, and then I let you die having said those terrible things at the hospital . . . and I loved you. And I thought if I had said so sooner maybe I could have saved you." He was quiet for a moment. "That phone call broke my heart but I thanked God every day that you called, that I was able to say something other than . . .than what I'd said at the lab."

"I will spend the rest of my life trying to make things up to you," Sherlock said.

John shook his head. "I've . . ." He wanted to say he'd forgiven Sherlock but he couldn't get the word out yet. Underneath the happiness at his return, the love he felt for him and the lust breaking through sometimes, he was still hurting. "I just want you to love me, okay? Love me and don't ever leave me again."

"I do love you and I won't leave you," Sherlock said. "I will do my best to deserve you, John."

John dipped down and kissed his mouth softly, tucking his head under his chin and curling close to him. "I love you, Sherlock."

"Are you sure you're not just in love with the fact that you took my virginity?" Sherlock said smiling.

John smiled. "Twenty percent," he teased. "Maybe thirty."

"Hmm . . . I should have held out a little longer -- played hard to get," Sherlock said, pinching John's arm softly.

John chuckled. "I think two years is enough," he said quietly, and he looked up quickly and pecked Sherlock's cheek so he could see that it was meant as a light tease. The conversation had been so heavy before and if that's the only way they spoke about it then it would always remain that way. He tucked his head under Sherlock's chin again and stayed curled against him. 

"Let's go to sleep and when we wake up, we'll both be right here -- for real, not just in our heads," Sherlock said, snuggling into the pillow a little.

"Okay," John murmured, closing his eyes and settling against Sherlock. "Good night, Sherlock," he said quietly. 

Sherlock fell to sleep rather quickly. Once during the night he woke up. He realised he hadn't had to take his pills to sleep the last two nights -- perhaps kissing John was all he had needed to be able to relax. He watched John sleep for a bit and then fell back himself.

For the first time in a very long time, John didn't dream. No nightmares, no good things, no silly scenarios. His mind was blank and deeply asleep and calm.


	10. A Bath

When Sherlock woke up again, he could tell through the corners of the window that it was morning. He stretched and then remembered that he was naked and felt a little strange. But perhaps, he thought, this is how he'd wake up every day from now on. He blew on John's face until he woke up.

John wrinkled his nose, and then winced, and then tried to hide his face before he realised there was no escape. He blinked his eyes open and found Sherlock's. He grunted a greeting and sighed. 

"Good morning, John Watson," Sherlock said. "Remember what you did to me last night?" he asked, smiling.

John smiled and nodded his head. "'Course I do," he murmured. "How do you feel?"

"A little bit achy," Sherlok said, "How about you?"

"Happy," John said, turning on his side. "Want me to run you a bath?"

"Are you going to get in with me?" Sherlock said cheekily.

John grinned. "I suppose I will," he said. "I'm a bit messy myself -- wonder who's fault that is..."

"The sexy doctor's," Sherlock said. He stood up and put his clothes from last night back on. "Let's have a cup of tea first, I don't want to be grumpy and I can get grumpy without tea." He headed downstairs. The sun was coming in the windows, and the flat looked bright. Different. Not just because it was clean, but because it felt like it was theirs again. He moved to the kitchen to turn on the kettle.

John got dressed and followed him down, leaning on the counter. "I'll just have to kiss you until you're not grumpy," he smiled. 

"Hmm . . . why did we get out of bed then?" Sherlock said. "I like kissing you when we're lying down." He turned and poured the tea before moving into the sitting room. He flopped down on the sofa. "What are we doing today?" 

John followed him and sat on the sofa with him. "Well, I can start packing," John said, taking a sit of his tea. "You can come over to mine with me and help," he said.

"I was thinking, should we change the flat a little? Make it more yours? Now that I've seen how you lived without me, this place could be more like that, have more of you," Sherlock said, taking a sip of tea.

"Yeah," John nodded. "I'll bring my things over," he said.

"I don't just mean your things -- you had your things here before, didn't you? I mean . . . I don't know. When I was at yours, I thought 'this is what John Waton's flat looks like' and it didn't look like here."

"Well . . .it wouldn't because there was none of you there. I like how it looks here -- like home," he smiled.

"All right. Just . . . just don't let John Watson disappear into just Sherlock Holmes' boyfriend. I took advantage a little before -- probably not intentionally -- don't let me now," Sherlock said. He drank some more tea.

"I'll keep you in check," he smiled, taking his hand.

Sherlock smiled. "Can we turn the light out when we have a bath?" he asked.

"How come?" John asked. "I don't mind, of course, I just wondered."

"I'm shy," Sherlock said quietly.

"From me?" John asked quietly, smiling softly and leaning on his shoulder. "I won't push you -- we can turn the lights off."

"I'm just shy . . . it's new, don't forget," Sherlock said, looking around the room at anything but John

"It's okay," John assured him. "I'll even close my eyes if you want," he smiled. "I want you to be comfortable."

"Well, I mean it's stupid, isn't it, after last night? I don't know, it just seems like it'll be different -- not in the bed, in the day time, I don't know . . ." Sherlock said. He actually didn't know quite what he meant.

"That's understandable, love. It's different in the heat of passion versus just . . .being admired," John said.

Sherlock shook his head a little. "I want to take the bath now," he said. He stood up. "You too, come on."

John gulped down the last of his tea and stood to follow him, taking his hand as they went.

Sherlock turned on the water. "I like it hot, yeah?" he said. He unbuttoned his shirt and took it off. Then he leaned over and turned off the light. Then he took off his trousers and stepped into the tub. "Fuck, it's hot," he said, chuckling a little. He turned on the cold for a few minutes. 

John pulled off his clothes and gasped as he touched the water. "Christ," he murmured. "Let me know when I can get in."

Sherlock smiled and pushed the water around with one foot. "All right, it's better, get in now, you big baby," he said. He moved to sit down and grumbled a little. "My muscles are more sore than I thought."

John bit his lip as he climbed in and settled between Sherlock's legs. "I should have been slower."

"I'm fine, I liked it like it was," Sherlock said. "Don't treat me like a baby. I'll let you know if I don't like something." He wrapped his arms around John's stomach. "The temperature okay for you now?"

John hummed his approval and leaned back against him. He covered Sherlock's hands and moved them lightly to clean off a bit. "Just making sure," he answered.

"Will you rub my legs a bit?" Sherlock asked, leaning back a little on the tub.

John nodded. "Of course my dear," he smiled, lightly massaging Sherlock's thighs.

Sherlock relaxed as John rubbed him. "What kind of sex stuff could one do in the tub, do you think?" he asked casually.

John smiled. "Anything one wanted to do, as long as we fit," he said.

"What would 'one' want to do if 'one' were so inclined?" Sherlock said, now dragging his fingers up and down John's chest.

"One could use his hands," John mused. "Or mouths if we drained the tub a bit. Or if one is really determined, some riding."

"I might vote for hands, I think," Sherlock said matter-of-factly. "Mouths seem too awkward and the other, well, we don't have the things we need, do we?" He leaned in and sucked softly on the side of John's neck. He lowered one hand to John's cock under the water and wrapped his fingers lightly around it, stroking it gently.

John let his head fall back onto Sherlock's shoulder as he reached between them to stroke Sherlock. It was different in the water.

Sherlock wiggled a bit. "No," he said, "just let me do you." He wanted to think about what he was doing, and it was too hard to focus with John doing it as well.

John pulled his hand away reluctantly and went back to gently rubbing his thighs. He closed his eyes and focused on Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock moved his hand slowly -- at first he was just thinking more about the fact that he was doing this. To someone else. To John. It was kind of amazing really. Then he tried to focus a little more, sensing how the rest of John's body responded as he moved his hand in different ways.

John turned his head and pecked kisses on his jaw, starting to pant softly.

"Do you like this?" Sherlock said quietly. "Do you want me to do anything else?"

"It feels good . . . I love your hands," John murmured.

"Slower? Faster?" Sherlock asked.

John licked out at his jaw, kissing a bit sloppily. "A bit faster, harder," he said quietly. 

"What would happen if I didn't, if I stayed like this?" Sherlock said.

"It's still good," John murmured. "But . . .I'll become needy."

"To be honest, John," Sherlock said, smiling. "That kind of sounds sexy -- what form might that take?"

John huffed out a small laugh. "Panting, moaning, begging, gripping, pushing."  Between each word he kissed Sherlock's jaw.

Sherlock kept moving his hand slowly but tipped his hips slightly to press against John's back. "I'd like to see that," he said. He bit softly into John's shoulder.

"I'll . . . " John swallowed hard, breathing heavily. " . . I'll show you." He scooted up a bit to press closer to him.

Sherlock's other hand moved to John's chest, pressing John against him. "John," he said softly. He kept his hand steady and gripped a little hard, but still slow.

John started panting while still trying to pretend he wasn't losing his mind in lust. But, of course, he was because this was Sherlock -- the man he loved, the one he'd missed so very much, the one with the sexy hands. 

"You're so sexy," Sherlock said softly. His hand moved a bit faster. "I feel your breathing changing because of my hand."

"I want -- need more," he breathed, skipping the thrusting and covering his hand with his own to make him move faster. "Please?"

"Like this?" Sherlock said, following John's lead. He pinched John's nipple softly as he bit John's neck again.

"Fuck," John moaned before he could help it. "Yes. . . like that" He helped Sherlock's hand move faster. Heat was building in his abdomen quickly.

"Can I do this to you every morning?" Sherlock said into John's ear. "Can I make you beg me every morning?"

John shivered and nodded. "Whenever you want. Faster . . . please," he murmured, bucking into his hand now.

"Are you always going to be so bossy?" Sherlock said, smiling to himself. He sped up his hand, gripping even harder, splashing the water a bit. "Are you going to come like this, John?"

"Can I?" He asked, writhing against him now. "I-I want to." 

"I suppose," Sherlock said. "I like this, though. I like seeing you like this." He rocked his hips. "But I think I might also like to see you come."

"Tell me . . .I-I'll wait if . . ." John's voice trailed off..

"If what? If I want you to? Really? How long? Hmm, how long can you wait?" he moved his hand faster.

"I -- " It was more of a whimper than a word. His panting became heavier with the effort to hold on for Sherlock.

"John Watson, I've missed you so much. I thought of you everyday I was gone. Sometimes I thought of you at night, wishing we had kissed. I thought of kissing when I touched myself. Is this helping to distract you?" Sherlock said, kissing John's neck again.

John shook his head hard. He'd thought of Sherlock once and felt so shameful and guilty that he hadn't touched himself for two months after that. His hips were bucking harder now, making the water splash over the side of the tub a bit.

"I have to say I'm quite impressed, John," Sherlock said. "Maybe I'll stop now. We can get out of the bath and get to work over at your flat. Maybe we should just stop now." His mouth was pressed against John's ear as he spoke. He pinched John's nipple again.

John arched hard and whimpered loudly. "P-please . . . please, Sherlock." His breaths were so heavy that each exhale carried a small moan with it.

"All right, then, John," Sherlock said. "Let me see you come."

John had started letting go before Sherlock finished speaking. He bucked up hard, he shouted out, and he came so hard that his body shook lightly. It seemed to last forever. He slumped against Sherlock, panting heavily and murmuring his name.

Sherlock pressed his head against John's and put small kisses on his cheek. "That was beautiful," he said softly.

"You," John said quietly.

Sherlock squeezed both arms around John. "I love you," he said.

"I love you, too," John smiled softly. "So much."

"Shall we get out now?" Sherlock asked, moving his legs a bit.

"Yes . . . I'm a bit cold now," he said quietly. He shifted and stood up, groping for a towel in the dark and drying off. "I'll go make some tea and start breakfast, okay?"

"Yeah," Sherlock said. "I want to put on clean clothes." This time he just walked naked into his bedroom, feeling less shy. He got dressed and then returned to the kitchen.

John started the kettle and then pulled eggs and toast out for breakfast. He was scrambling up the eggs when Sherlock came into the kitchen. He pushed Sherlock's mug towards him before going back to the eggs.

"Thank you for making breakfast," Sherlock said, taking a sip of tea. "It's nice of you. I haven't had a proper breakfast in a long time." He watched John about the kitchen. It was so good, his being home.

"I've got to catch up before you waste away on me," he teased.

"Especially if you're going to be forcing me to exert so much energy all the time," Sherlock smiled. "I'm going to go downstairs and check to see if there's any post." He stood up and went down, but there was nothing but the papers. He hadn't really expected any since few people knew he was back, but he quite liked getting post and had hoped maybe there'd be something.

As he was making his way back up, Mrs Hudson opened her door. "Good morning, Sherlock," she said. "Anything for me?"

"Nothing for either of us," Sherlock said.

"Why are you smiling, Sherlock Holmes?" she asked.

"I'm a happy person, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock said. "You shouldn't question happiness." Then he went back into the flat.

"I just saw Mrs Hudson, but I didn't tell her anything," Sherlock said.

"She doesn't know I'm here yet?" John asked, putting both plates at the table and moving to get juice. "Well, she'll see me soon enough."

"The last she knew I was making a scene at your flat, John," Sherlock said. "I told her we spoke after that, but nothing else. She doesn't know what happened in your bed or what just occurred in the bath."

"Well, I should hope not!" John felt his cheeks flush and remembered how she always just walked in here. He was glad he had pajamas on and made a mental note to be careful about locking the door.

"I think we should have a lie down after breakfast," Sherlock said staring into the newspaper he had opened in front of his face. "A little rest before the exertion of moving things about."

"Sure," John agreed. He wasn't sleepy but was not going to pass up the opportunity to cuddle up with Sherlock.

Sherlock took a few bites of his food and then pushed his plate away. "That was nice, thank you," he said. He finished his tea and then stood up. "I think I'll go rest now, come up when you're done." He headed up to John's room, took off all his clothes and got into the bed.


	11. Always

John furrowed his brows as he watched Sherlock leaving, his food hardly touched. He finished his and put Sherlock's food away before heading to his room. "Are you cold?" He chuckled as he made to climb into bed.

"Yes," Sherlock said softly. "Get in the bed with me so I'll warm up."

John scooted closer to him and caught sight of him. "No wonder," he smiled and got closer.

"Help me with this," Sherlock said, taking John's hand and leading it down to half hard cock. He leaned in and kissed John's mouth.

John smiled into the kiss and wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's cock, stroking him slowly.

Sherlock exhaled at John's touch. "Oh, John, that's nice," Sherlock said, already slowly rocking his hips.

John hummed softly. "Do I get to hear you beg now?" He murmured, starting slow and light.

"No," Sherlock said, "but you can keep doing that for a while." He slid one of his arms through the space between the pillow and John's head. He looked down and watched John stroke him.

John kept his pace slow and steady, his grip light as he moved up and down.

Sherlock began kissing John's neck, licking and sucking the skin. He moaned softly. "It's good," he said, rocking with John's rhythm.

John smiled. "Good . . . I like making you feel good," he said quietly. He gripped just a bit tighter, keeping the slow stroking.

Sherlock curled a little, his hand stroking the back of John's head. "You do," he said. He shifted his legs a little.

"Do you want me to just use my hand?" John asked, leaning back into his touch.

"I want whatever you want to do," Sherlock said. He moved to press his forehead to John's. "What do you want to do?" He kissed his mouth quickly.

"Mix it up," John shrugged lightly. "I could use my mouth."

"Interesting," Sherlock said. "I just want you to do what you want to do, whatever you want to do to me. That would make me feel good."

"We'd be here all day," John grinned. He sped up a little bit, swiping his thumb across the top to spread the precome and make it easier. 

"That's precisely what I want us to do, if I'm honest," Sherlock said. He pushed open the dressing gown and started kissing John's chest. 

John tucked his head down to look -- touching his face to Sherlock's hair. He moved his hand a bit faster now. 

"So what is it you're going to do to me first?" Sherlock said. "Show me."

John pushed him down and climbed on top of him. "I want to touch and taste everything," he murmured, pressing his lips to Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock pressed back against the bed and let John move over him. "What tastes are you finding?" Sherlock said.

"Will you yell at me if I tell you?" John teased, flicking his tongue over Sherlock's nipple.

"Only if you want me to," Sherlock said. "Is that a 'thing' you're into?" He looked up and smiled and then put his head back down.

"No, you goof," John chuckled, pulling his nipple between his teeth lightly before moving on. "I taste . . . handsome . . .and a bit of sexy over here . . ."

"No -- " Sherlock interrupted. "Don't say those things . . . I'm sorry. At least I'm not yelling . . ."

John went back to kissing. "I taste soap here -- you should rinse better."

Sherlock smiled. "What about sex maniac? Do you taste that -- I'm worried I'm turning into one."

"That's lower down," John said. "That's the dessert," he grinned, pulling the soft skin of his belly between his teeth lightly. He dipped his tongue into Sherlock's navel and kissed underneath it.

"Are we going to do sex again?" Sherlock said. "Sorry -- I'm impatient."

"I was just going to use my mouth -- are you still tender?" John asked, resting his chin on Sherlock's hip.

"I might still be a bit," Sherlock said. He moved his hand to John's head. "Are you . . .?" 

John tilted his head slightly. "Sore? No."

"So . . . we could still do sex," Sherlock said.

"I can go slower, and I'll stop if it's too much," John said, kissing his hip.

"No, I mean . . . I could do it to you," Sherlock said.

John's hand slowed a bit and his eyes dropped to Sherlock's stomach. "We could, yes," he said quietly, his stomach flipping with nerves.

"What do you think about that?" Sherlock said. "Be honest."

"I've never . . . I want to try with you," he said. "I just didn't expect now."

"We don't have to, John," Sherlock said. He sat up a bit and reached down to touch John. "I want to try everything with you," he said, "but I don't want to do anything you're not sure about."

"I'm just nervous," he said, laying his head on Sherlock's thigh now.

"Don't be nervous -- I'm the one who's never done anything," he brushed his fingers against John's cheek. "Presuming I'm actually able to do it correctly, I can tell you it doesn't hurt while it's happening -- it's just a . . . different feeling but it's good." He smiled. "And then we can both hobble around for the rest of the day."

John chuckled softly and crawled up to kiss him. "Okay," he agreed. "We can go pack tomorrow."

"Lay down here," Sherlock said. "Let me try to look after you for a bit."

"I didn't even finish looking after you," John said, lying where Sherlock was guiding him.

"You won't ever be done looking after me," Sherlock said, "so don't even get that in your head." He moved over John's body. "You're going to have to remove all your clothes, please. Just so you know: I'm going to put it in my mouth first because I've never done that before." He looked up at John. "I'm sorry. I think it helps to talk through it."

"I don't mind," John said, pulling the dressing gown off completely. "I like to know what's happening," he smiled.

Sherlock lowered himself down. First he kissed John a few times on his belly. He trailed his tongue down a bit and then licked a stripe up John's cock. Then he used his hand to lift John's cock and he swirled his tongue around the tip and then sucked it in. "Is this okay?" he said softly.

John nodded and made a small noise of approval in case Sherlock wasn't watching. He reached down and brushed his hair lightly with his fingertips.

Sherlock covered John's cock with kisses and then sucked a little bit. He shifted John's legs, pulling them apart a bit. He gripped John's thighs and kept licking and kissing him. As he made John wet, he felt like he could taste sex.

"Feels good, Sherlock," John murmured, squirming so he wouldn't buck up.

Sherlock licked the creases where John's legs met his body and then across his balls. He looked up. "I need the stuff," he said softly.

"Oh," John nodded, stretching to grab the lube from the bedside table. When he realised the condoms were in the drawer, he sighed and scooted away from Sherlock, grabbing them as well. "Here you go."

Sherlock dribbled some lube onto his hand and then rubbed between John's legs. He got everything slick and then brushed his finger tips across John's hole. "Try to relax and enjoy going back to the fact that -- despite the fact I've only done this once in my life -- I'm the expert. Doesn't the world just feel better when Sherlock knows everything?" he said, looking up and smiling at John.

John laughed softly with him and nodded. "I trust you," he said. He took a deep breath and tried to relax under Sherlock's hands.

Sherlock moved his finger over John's hole again. "I'm going to push my finger in now," he said softly, "I'll go slow -- just say if you want me to stop." He very slowly pushed his finger into John, feeling the muscles tight around him. He leaned down and kissed John's belly as he slowly pushed it all the way in. "It feels full, doesn't it? Unusual but it shouldn't hurt."

"It doesn't hurt," John said quietly.

"I've only used just one," Sherlock said. "I'll try two." He slid his finger out and pushed two back in, just as slowly as before. He leaned over and drew a little circle on John's thigh with his tongue. "I'm going to draw a letter now," he said, "you tell me what it is." As he drew the letter S with his tongue, he began slowly pumping his fingers.

"Um . . . an 'S'," John murmured, squirming lightly. His breathing picked up a bit and he moaned softly.

Sherlock felt John's muscles relax a little as he concentrated on Sherlock's tongue. He kept moving his fingers. "Does it feel good? It might not be for you -- you can say if it's not."

"Mhmm," John murmured. "It's good . . . I like how you feel there." Daniel had used his fingers once but it hadn't been like this -- in fact it had put him off like his mouth had. John felt so relaxed and good with Sherlock.

Sherlock kept leaning over and kissing John's skin. He curled his fingers a little, brushing against John's prostate -- when John had done that last night, Sherlock had noticed even more electricity. "John, you're so sexy," Sherlock said, "just everything makes me feel so good."

"Oh!" John called out. "That's . . . that was good."

Sherlock tried the move again. "Your body . . ." he said, "I like getting to know it in new ways." He pulled his fingers out. "Do you want to stop? We can, we can just kiss or do something else." John said he'd never had sex done to him -- there must be a reason. Sherlock really wanted to try but didn't want John to do something he didn't want to do.

"No, I-I want to with you," he murmured, propping up to look at him. "With you."

Sherlock poured some more lube into his hand. "I love you, John, I love trying new thing with you," he pushed three fingers in slowly. He moved his body up a little so he could reach John's chest to kiss. This also allowed him to press his cock against John's leg, creating a bit of friction as he moved his fingers.

"You . . . you make me want new things," he murmured, bucking lightly into Sherlock's hand. He wanted to explain but couldn't find the words.

"Should we try now?" Sherlock said. He was starting to feel incredibly excited and full of want, but he didn't want to seem over-eager.

"Yes," John murmured, writhing a bit to push against his hand.

Sherlock sat up and reached for the box of condoms. He opened one and managed to get it on properly. "Here, put some pillows under your hips, I think it might make it easier." He stroked himself and then spilled some more lube onto John so everywhere was slick. He held one of John's legs and used his other hand to guide himself into John.

The tightness around him was incredible. "God, John, god," he called out too loudly -- he couldn't believe how good it felt. He pushed in about half way and then realised he'd stopped breathing. He took a few inhales and looked up on John. "Okay?" he asked softly.

"Bit -- just a bit slower," John breathed, his hands clutching at Sherlock's arms. He was so . . . full and stretched.

"Just breathe, John," Sherlock said, moving as slowly as he could. "It's me, just tell me if you need me to stop." He leaned down and kissed John's lips softly.

"Keep . . . keep kissing me," he murmured, catching Sherlock's lips and nodding lightly to let him know he could move.

Sherlock rolled his hips gently, moving slowly in and almost all the way out. He dropped his head to the side of John's, panting softly in his ear. "John . . . fuck, it's too . . . it feels good. . .you," he tried to make sense but couldn't.

John continued pressing kisses against his face.

"Please," Sherlock said. He slid one arm under John's arm and wrapped his forearm around his upper back tightly. "John . . . it feels too good, I feel . . . it's . . . I'm going to come," Sherlock moaned quietly. He knew it was too quick, but he knew that it was too late to stop.

John pushed his hand between them and started to stroke quickly. "Okay . . .it's okay," he assured him.

Sherlock watched John's hand move and that was enough -- he came, pushing into John and then freezing until he came back to his senses and kissed John's ear. "I'm so sorry, John, you just felt so good, I couldn't stop," he sucked softly on John's ear. He pulled his arm out from underneath John and reached down between their bodies. He let it glide over John's hand and then he cupped John's balls softly.

John felt the heat building and he closed his eyes, imagining Sherlock inside of him and he came all over his hands and their stomachs, murmuring and gasping for Sherlock.

"John," Sherlock whispered his name as he came and then kissed him on the neck. "I love you, thank you," he said into his skin.

John panted softly and hummed with each swallow as he tried to regain his senses a bit. "Thank you," he mumbled back.

Sherlock lay next to John until they both caught their breath. Then he slid out and over and took off the condom. Then he curled around John. "I'm sorry -- I couldn't stop, it was just too much but was so good," he said, drawing circles on John's chest. "I don't know if you ever want to do it again, but it'll be better, I promise. It's just because it was the first . . . I've never been inside anyone."

"Shh, love . . . it was fantastic," John said. "I-I've never had anyone inside me," he added quietly.

"Thank you for letting me," Sherlock said. He kissed him. "Thank you. I hope you're not too sore now -- at least maybe that's one advantage to it not lasting too long." He reached over and got his shirt to rub clean John's belly, before throwing the shirt on the floor and laying back down. He closed his eyes a little. "I'm sleepy, I could sleep."

"We can take a nap . . .I don't want to move for a while."

Sherlock kept his eyes closed. "Have we done everything now, John? Or are there other things we could try?"

"There are many variations," John smiled.

"Are you sure you won't get bored? I know you, I know you like new and exciting things," Sherlock had opened his eyes and was doodling on John's chest again.

"Me?" John laughed softly. "You're the one shooting the walls, love."

"I don't get bored when I'm thinking about things, and this is something I'll like thinking about," Sherlock said. "You, on the other hand, like new and exciting."

"I like you, Sherlock. And if you wanted me to quit my job and sit in this flat and just look at you, I would. But . . . please don't do that yet because we do have rent, yeah?" He smiled.

Sherlock acted like he was thinking for a minute. "Okay, I would like you to do that, please. But if you refuse, which I have a feeling you probably will, I promise to use the time you're not here, thinking of new and exciting things for us to do."

"I'm a bit afraid of what that brain will come up with -- you're not shooting at me, okay?"

"Hmmm . . . are you trying to set me up for a rude comment? No, I won't shoot at you. But I'll come up with more sex stuff for us to do."

"Right. You're still not shooting at me," John laughed softly.

"In a sex way maybe," Sherlock said.

"Nope. I draw the line at shooting," he said.

"I suppose one could argue that I just shot at you, John Watson," he said. "I'm pretty sure there's a condom over there that holds the evidence. Are you happy now, pervert, forcing me to say that?"

John's shoulders shook lightly with silent laughter. "You're the cutest thing, I swear," he said.

"Don't say I'm cute," Sherlock said. "I know I am, but don't say it."

"Don't yell at me for pointing out obvious things. If you keep doing that, I'll never say nice things."

"Oh really?" Sherlock said, climbing on top of John and pinning his arms down. "Now you've riled me. You take that back. My observations are not of obvious things, but of incredibly clever things that no one else sees. Now say you're sorry and that I'm both cute and clever."

"I won't. Well, you're cute. But otherwise you just . . observe better. Maybe." John grinned and wiggled underneath him.

"So cruel, John," Sherlock said. "Is this because I was so bad at sex? Is that how you get back at me? Well, it won't work because I still want to have sex with you and next time I'll make it last so long your mind will be blown." He was laughing at himself for sounding so stupid.

"Oh yeah? Well that's when you'll get your apology then. And I'll have you know that if I was getting back at you, I'd just cut you off. Cold turkey." He was grinning wider and wider.

"Wrong, you'd never do that," Sherlock said, "because you love it so much."

"Perhaps. But there you go with the obvious again."

"Shut your cute face," Sherlock said, leaning down and kissing him. He let his hands go and rolled off John. "You're a fool, you are."

"Yeah, but they say love does that to people so I'm okay with it."

"I do love you despite your being a fool, but you must let me go to sleep now or I won't be able to do sex stuff again later which I would like to do," Sherlock said, snuggling a bit under the covers. "But I want to do things in my bed next time."

"We can make a list -- we'll do it anywhere you like," he smiled.

"All right then," Sherlock said. "Let me spoon you."

"Okay," John agreed easily. He turned onto his side and scooted close to Sherlock, glad he was facing away when he winced lightly. 

"A bath will help," Sherlock said quietly. "Has it put you off doing it again one day?"

"Not at all," he answered. "I knew the first one would be like this. It really did feel good -- it's worth it."

"If you prefer, you can do it to me," Sherlock said. He closed his eyes and slid his hands tighter around John's belly.

"We'll see," John said quietly, covering Sherlock's hands and closing his own eyes.

"Shhh," Sherlock said. "Wake me up if you wake up first, okay?" 

"Promise," John said, taking a deep breath and relaxing against him.

They lay quietly for a bit as sleep came into the room. Then Sherlock whispered, "It was always you, John. Always."

"And it will always be you, Sherlock. Always," John whispered back.


End file.
